


Destiny

by RawJacques



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Play, Comedy, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reconciliation, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RawJacques/pseuds/RawJacques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiny.<br/>What is meant to be, will be.<br/>Is the path taken to get there important?<br/>Is the route taken inevitable, or will there be an unexpected "please turn around when possible"?</p><p> </p><p>Onmund is still brooding over that amulet. It is his only reminder of the traditional Nord Heritage he abandoned to study magic, and the family that shunned him for it. That ostracision is intensified by his recent marriage to Imperial Arch-Mage Taslav.</p><p>Great things have always come easily to Taslav. As the Dragonborn, he was always destined to be an over-achiever. But Onmund? He despairs that he'll never achieve anything. Even Taslav's heart was a gift, not a win.</p><p>Taslav persuades Onmund to visit the family farm, for a reconciliation. He has a plan to make them see Onmund for who he is destined to be. But things don't quite pan out as expected...</p><p>The small magical display intended to prove Onmund's worth, turns into a life-or-death battle, ultimately resulting in atonement, and an avenging of epic proportions, that reveals Onmund's true destiny.</p><p>(Dysfunctional) 'Family' dominates the issues. Although 'relationships' underlines everything. Along with emotions. And feelings. And feel-ups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family.

**Author's Note:**

> I should mention first: this entire story was prompted at SKM (skyrimkinkmeme):  
> http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5232.html?thread=12437872#t12437872  
> and owes its existence purely to that prompt. 
> 
> It specifically requested that the DB takes Onmund to reconcile with his family. But as the story filled and grew rather quickly, I chose to post here, where it can be edited and updated and tweaked and adjusted. And I'm still finding typos now and then, despite being "complete".  
> However, it would now be difficult to take the story back to SKM, because this takes a different direction to the prompt. Once I 'got going', the plot became, ummm, Destined. 
> 
>  
> 
> As for the story itself:  
> Apart from the one deadly serious battle of Destiny that rages in the middle, which is not meant to be funny (despite the odd moment of hilarity thrown in for light relief) this is a light-hearted piece of... comedy... I think.  
> I don't suspect there is any danger of anyone dying of laughter, as much as I'd like there to be. But hopefully even the rehashed cliches will prove amusing, as this flirts provocatively with crack at times. 
> 
> I should probably add, that while there is some serious innuendo, some double entendre so obscure it might be missed, and personal space is violated by the occasional intimate contact, the "sexual" content is all part of the good natured fun. Nothing more explicit than a touch and a kiss and inappropriate groping. I'd even rate this as "teen" rather than "mature", but am playing it safe. (Using protection? Yeah - that's the sort of humor I'm talking about...)  
> This is just soap opera. Relationships and impossible family characters resulting in humor and comedy. 
> 
> Sadly, this is not a "reference piece" for dealing with the contemporary difficult problem, of a gay couple coming out to their parents. That situation provides a crucial plot twist, and is a source of much humor, despite it being no laughing matter at all. This story accepts their relationship readily enough when the time comes.  
> I am sorry for those not so blessed as to have family like Onmund's.  
> On the other hand... I am also very sorry for those stuck with family like Onmund's. Ummm. You'll see what I mean... 
> 
> It is not any sort of erotic piece. There is TLC galore, although Onmund struggles to "feel the love" for much of it. There is hanky-panky here and there, for laughs. But it's more Benny Hill, than Blue Movie.
> 
> Even that "age play" tag, is about the Randy Granny trying to get her hands on the Lovely Young Man. Try Harry Enfield's Old Ladies with the Gas Man, if you want some idea of what that's all about. (You can find a Youtube clip of that, if you google for it...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That amulet still haunts Onmund.
> 
> Taslav squeezes the truth out of him. Literally.

 

 **Part 1. Family**.

 

"One day I'll show them," muttered Onmund angrily, almost under his breath, sitting at his desk in the college bedroom. He glared at the amulet, frustrated, yet impotent. He dare not do anything destructive to this last remaining solitary symbol of his family. He had traded it away once, and had been lucky to get it back. Very lucky. He couldn't quite believe his luck, in fact. That single day had changed his life completely.

 

"Whatcha doing, Onmund?"

Taslav, retriever of said amulet, best friend, lover, and most recently, husband, took him by complete surprise with his stealthy approach from behind. Despite his best efforts to hide it, the Arch-Mage saw Onmund stuff the amulet quickly away into a pocket.

"Oh, nothing, my love," replied Onmund down-heartedly.

Taslav chose discretion over discipline. "But you skipped classes today. That's not like you. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm... fine. Just having an off day. I feared I might get carried away in class, and really destroy something I shouldn't, is all."

"And to think I had asked Tolfdir to teach everyone the Lightning Cloak today," tutted Taslav. "And, in addition, especially just for you, he was to demonstrate the Wall of Storms. I even asked him for a special favor, to let you have a go at it. It was meant to be my birthday present to you."

Onmund spun around on the bench in double surprise. He didn't know which one to deal with first.

 _The Wall of Storms?_ That was an expert level spell, and Onmund didn't feel ready to advance that far, despite Taslav's faith. But it was the other surprise that mattered to him much more deeply.

" _Really?_ You knew today was my birthday?" His heart soared in the warm glow of loving acknowledgment, but the weight of the amulet quickly dragged it all the way back down. "Well, at least someone remembered," he added gloomily.

Taslav sat down beside the depressed Onmund. He put a comforting arm around his shoulder. A quick peck on a cheek, for extra reassurance. And now that Onmund was securely trapped, he initiated the not-so-subtle interrogation.

"OK. Spill it," demanded Taslav. "It's time to tell all. I know that amulet means something special to you. Something very special. So why today - your birthday, of all days - are you brooding over it?"

Taslav didn't miss much. And Onmund's feelings were still bruised enough, that it didn't take much persuasion to squeeze the truth out of him. Onmund was caught between a rock and a hard place. Figuratively, that is. In addition to the quite literal locations of Taslav's rock of a hand and hard place of a chest.

 

Onmund drew the amulet out of his pocket again. "This amulet. It's the only thing I have, that reminds me of my family. Did I ever tell you it belonged to my GrandPa? He was an Imperial soldier. Part of the legion at Solitude. A true Nord, wielding greatswords and warhammers with aplomb, always going for maximum attack, never even thinking of hiding behind a shield for some protection. He reached the rank of Legate, before he died in battle. This amulet was his legacy to me. I guess he hoped it would inspire me to follow in his great warrior footsteps."

"Well, that all sounds heroically sweet enough."

"Oh, pulleez," retorted a disparaging Onmund. "I was three years old. I didn't even know what this shiny new toy symbolized, other than GrandPa had gone away and was not coming back. How could my destiny be decided, so young?"

"Some people are born with greatness already in them, Onmund. You know me well enough to know that to be true. And who's to say the same is not true of you?"

Onmund wriggled free, so he could turn to scrutinize Taslav closely. He was feeling much too fragile to have his leg pulled. He had achieved almost nothing compared with the magnificent deeds of the Dragonborn hero sitting next to him. But Taslav was not pulling anything. Onmund saw only sincere hope and honest belief. Unwavering faith, staring back from devoted eyes.

Onmund wrapped his arms around Taslav in a tight hug, tears ready to burst forth at the first suspicious word. "Do you really mean that, my love?" he whispered anxiously, next to Taslav's ear.

"Of course, Onmund," affirmed Taslav, rubbing Onmund's back gently. "I would never tease you about such things. I can feel your raw pain about this. But I can also sense that you _are_ destined for greatness. It's just up to you to find your path to it."

"My path! Hah!" The bad memories instantly shattered the delicate moment. Onmund pulled back as the angry feelings boiled over once more. The path he had stumbled along thus far, could not have been rockier.

He snarled the words. "GrandPa was an Imperial Legate. You'd think the Bold-Finger family should be right up there with the Battle-Borns and Gray-Manes of Whiterun, except we should have an even higher status than those clans, in Solitude. That's how my parents seem to delude themselves, anyway."

"Nothing wrong with ambition, Onmund. Perhaps someday your family will find their rightful place."

"Yeah, riiiight. My family has _such_ impressive warrior heritage. Except, we're heading down, not up. Pa was a soldier, too. He had some trivial guard post at Whiterun, before he took an arrow somewhere in his leg, and retired on contrived medical grounds. He used his severance pay to buy the dismal farm the family now scratches a living from. My big brother Golry has been training to join the Imperial legion for _years_ , but fails the trials every time he applies. We're no clan of amazing warriors, and never will be."

"It doesn't look like it will happen anytime soon, no," agreed Taslav carefully.

"But do you know what _really_ hurts? Guess who gets the blame, for Golry's failures?"

"Well, the obvious answer would be Golry," replied Taslav. "But I suspect otherwise?"

"Too right! It's all _my_ fault, of course. Because I'm not a good enough sparring partner for him to train against. So I get the blame, for his inability to become a soldier in the first place." Onmund glared furiously at the amulet with burning, yet moist, eyes.

"Ouch. That's not fair. Not fair at all." Taslav did his best to console the inconsolable, with a pat and a hug and a gentle levering of his big shoulder into a more supportive position. Then he leaned his head against that of the miserable Nord, for as long as it took.

Onmund sighed heavily. His family had always laid into him about this, but Taslav... well, Taslav was just the kind, caring, solid-as-a-rock loyal partner he always was. He felt the anger ebbing away, as he slumped against the broad, sturdy shoulder being offered.

"But it's also true," lamented Onmund quietly. "I can't handle a sword or a mace to fight my way out of a paper bag. Golry knocks any weapon out of my hand at every contact. The last time we tried sparring, he put GrandPa's warhammer in my hands. I raised it above my head to strike, and... and..."

"Yes? And..." encouraged Taslav gently.

Tears of shame began dribbling down Onmund's cheeks. "And I dropped the darn thing. On my head. I'd probably be dead, if I hadn't been wearing GrandPa's helmet. Now, there's just a big dent in it, to remind everyone of how feeble I am. That dazzling new feature sticks out a mile, from its revered position on the wall above the hearth back home."

Taslav tried, but failed, to suppress a chuckle. Onmund could surely feel him shaking with mirth anyway, so why hide it? He burst out laughing. He had done plenty of physical fighting with all sorts of weapons. The idea of Onmund trying to handle anything bigger than a dagger was indeed ludicrous. But a warhammer? And denting a family heirloom with his ineptitude? It was too comical to contemplate.

"You _swine_ ," protested Onmund bitterly, once again pulling away from the support he had been relying on. "That was the day I vowed never to be humiliated again. I packed my bags, and came here to the college. And now you're ridiculing me about it, too."

The frustrated Onmund pummeled his fists half-heartedly against Taslav's big chest, but it made no impression against the muscular pillar of strength apparently mocking his weakness.

Taslav caringly restrained the flailing fists, then wrapped his arms firmly around a distraught Onmund, holding him tightly against his own body, before gently rocking the damaged man into submission.

 

"Oh, Onmund. My dear, sweet, Onmund. I'm not scoffing. Really, I'm not. But the notion of you wielding a warhammer is just too absurdly hilarious for me. It's a tragedy how your family has led you astray. Not every Nord is destined to be a big strapping warrior, no matter how much they might want to be."

"But I never _wanted_ to be a warrior," wailed the distressed Onmund. "My parents wanted that, not me. I always knew that was the wrong path for me. It took me years of frustrating, difficult, awkward arguing, trying to convince them that I had magic in my blood, not steel."

"Precisely!" declared an emphatic Taslav. "You _knew_ your path. It just took you longer to find the courage to walk it, ultimately provided by that dented helmet, because your family didn't support you, and fought against you instead. But you're here now, and making up for that lost time remarkably quickly, I must say. I'm quite sure you'd have already mastered the Wall of Storms today, if you'd been there to try it." Taslav tried to redirect Onmund onto the more positive topic of his burgeoning mage skills. But his tactics failed.

"Family!" Onmund spat the word in disgust. He glared at the amulet once more, wanting to both cherish it and smash it at the same conflicting moment. "Don't remind me about them. I am as good as dead to them. That's why I got rid of this damned thing in the first place."

 

There was a long pause, while Taslav pondered how to proceed. He put the words together carefully. Sensitively. The next step was too delicate, to just blunder onwards.

 

He whispered the question softly. "Well, then. Why did you want it back?"

It was the obvious question, but it needed asking. Onmund was close to the cusp of understanding. Taslav nursed him along the last few steps to grasp it.

"Because... because... without it, I had no family at all. I was all alone here at the college, no other Nords for company. I needed... something... a memento... to remind me of who I was. That amulet was the only link I had, to my heritage. My family might loathe me for choosing magic over steel, but they were all I had."

 

Taslav smiled, and risked another stolen kiss on Onmund's cheek. He had worked it out, and got the message. _Family is more important than anything else_. Onmund had also said "were", intuitively admitting he had a new family now. Their union was stronger than ever, and the perfect foundation to build on.

 


	2. Legacy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get what you pay for. More or less. And sometimes you get what you inherit.
> 
> Onmund has paid dearly for his choices. 
> 
> Are the rewards, worth the price? Maybe More? Or perhaps Less?

 

**Part 2: Legacy.**

 

"Funny thing, destiny," commented Taslav. "You traded the amulet away, and yet it ultimately gained you far more than you bargained for, didn't it?"

"Well, yes," blushed Onmund. "I never expected in my wildest dreams that any stranger would bother trying to help me get it back. It's only thanks to you that I have it now. Along with all of the... extra bonuses... that came with it."

"My darling Onmund! Of all the quests I have completed, in all of my days, retrieving the Grand Staff of Charming to trade with Enthir for your amulet, was by far the most pleasing. And rewarding. And satisfying. And... yes, I'll go so far as to say... Destined."

Onmund blushed brighter than ever. He always felt awkward when Taslav started the foreplay with some compliments. His family had never said anything nice about him. Not since the day he had first told them he wanted to study magic. His self-belief had been whittled away by their constant haranguing. To the point where accepting a kind word was now very difficult for him. But the mere _hearing_ of a kind word, was enough to remind him of his heartless family.

He felt the anger bristling anew, and blurted out: "Taslav, you just don't understand what my family is like. They scorn magic. They scorn me. They didn't even bother to send me a birthday card this year. Not even a snotty letter like last year. That rotten pile of contemptible criticism that made me... Oh, damn, I've said too much already."

"Nothing I hadn't worked out already, Onmund," said Taslav softly, hugging him affectionately.

"This year, they sent me nothing at all. It's like I don't even exist to them anymore."

"You do realize that without that rotten pile of contemptible criticism, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to win you over, don't you? Destiny works in strange ways," soothed Taslav, stroking Onmund's hair and caressing his cheek. "But perhaps the time has come for us to visit them, to properly resolve matters."

Taslav had always known Onmund had a sensitive spot about his family, but that particular idea seemed to hit an especially raw nerve, for how much it rattled Onmund's cage.

"Bad idea," growled Onmund. "REALLY bad. That's asking for a shitstorm of trouble. 'Onmund, if you can't be a warrior, then why can't you at least be a farmer like Pa? Why can't you be a hunter like your big brother, Golry?' Somedays, I think they would even have preferred me to be a gold-digging spouse hunter like my little sister, Yrsold. But magic? Ooooohhhhh no, that's taboo. No Nord should ever go near such evil. Far beneath any Bold-Finger. 'As good as a death sentence', as far as my parents are concerned. If they shun me for choosing to study magic, how do you think they're going to welcome _you_ , Mr. Arch-Mage? They might let you in because they fear your powers, but they'd prefer to entertain all of the Daedra at one year-long house party, than have YOU in the house for a second, I can assure you."

 

Taslav hugged Onmund all the tighter, as the young man completed sharing the secret family skeleton in the closet. Onmund had agreed to marriage, despite knowing how much more his family would ostracize him for choosing a mage partner. That he had accepted that personal sacrifice, of greater isolating rejection, for their shared magical talents as a couple, was something Taslav had never appreciated before.

Onmund had stood alone for a long, long time. His family had obstructed him every step of the way, eroding his confidence. He had had to fight for every inch of ground gained. But he had also had the strength and determination to make his own way, forging his own path, pressing onward against all of the hindrances, despite paying the price of losing his family for it. Onmund was far tougher than anyone had realized. Including Taslav, until that moment of insight.

 

And yet, Onmund was in tears again. Tears of relief, this time. Feeling safe in Taslav's arms, the weighty family burden of expectation of GrandPa's amulet slid off his weary shoulders at long last.

He was not a warrior. Not like his GrandPa had been. He was never destined to be one. He was a mage. And now he knew that with a conviction he had never felt before. He was ready to walk his own true path. A path free from all of the obstacles and booby-traps and misdirections his family had placed in his way, making him stumble and fall and question the nagging doubts that had held him back for far too many years.

After a good few minutes of healthy, healing cuddling, Onmund went so far as to place the amulet around his neck. Now that he could accept he should not, _could_ not, be the warrior his family expected, his GrandPa's legacy had become one of being the best warrior he could, in the best _way_ he could. The way of magic.

 


	3. Threats.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onmund could see the dangerous threats surrounding his family home. 
> 
> But there's one in particular, that catches Taslav's attention.
> 
> And one that shocks him to the core of his soul.

 

 **Part 3: Threats.**   

 

"They're all idiots," sniffed Onmund. "Scratching out a living at Bleak Moor farm, in the North West of Whiterun hold. Only Rorikstead to the West offers any safe access. There's bandits to the East in Redoran's Retreat, and to the South in Swindler's Den. If it weren't for Talking Stone camp to the North, and the Giants being a buffer target, I'm pretty sure our farm would be raided regularly by those bandits from Oretheim."

"So, you're here at the College because you reckon magic is the right way to defend the farm?"

"I'm now certain it's the _only_ way, Taslav. And then some. I'm not big and tough and strong like you. I know that. But I am strong in... other ways... Someday my family will see that. I hope."

"I can _guarantee_ that, Onmund." Taslav had already seen, and was now determined his family would too.

 

"I've also seen that nasty old wizard of a Dunmer, Drelas, practicing some dark magic at his cottage, an uncomfortably close distance away. He's the one I'm _really_ worried about. He's not exactly friendly. No Nord warrior could touch him, no matter how strong. What chance have Pa and Golry got, if GrandPa's legion wasn't strong enough to beat him?"

Taslav drew a sharp breath, recalling the name from a report in the college archives on dangerous dark magic mages. He desperately tried to remember what he had read. _Yes. Yes, it was all there. He could see it. Including the notes about that doomed Imperial expedition._ Taslav paled a little, sobered by the graphically explicit details of the slaughter.

He swallowed awkwardly, to clear his throat. "Onmund? You're saying your GrandPa died leading a mission to take down Drelas?"

"Yes. He was Legate, and led his troops to oblivion. They were annihilated without landing a single blow. And now the family is living right next door to him. If Drelas ever finds out who his neighbors are... I think my family will be wiped out without mercy."

"You could well be right about that," concurred a gravely concerned Taslav.

"So, while my family insists I should take up a proper Nord profession like farming or hunting or cracking skulls with warhammers, they then tease me about being so weak, I'd hurt myself picking up a table knife for dinner."

Bristling at the hypocrisy, Taslav wanted to console, but he was still distracted by the information about Drelas. "They picked on you as an easy target, while ignoring the real threats."

"I tried to show them all the dangers surrounding the farm, for years. The only safe shelter nearby, was in Greenspring Hollow. I found some old apothecary stuff in there. But there was a body of a dead hunter in there, too. It's not safe, even in the safe places. It was obvious that steel could not defend us. If GrandPa's legion failed, then just how many soldiers would it take, to protect us? I always knew the solution had to be magical. And that's why I specialize in Destruction. Because that's what we're going to need at the farm, someday soon."

Something clicked in Taslav's mind. Bleakmoor Farm sounded like a death-trap, facing imminent obliteration. And yet...

"You do realize you said ' **we're** going to need', don't you? Like you're back at the farm already?" challenged Taslav, sensing Onmund felt more strongly for his dismissive family than he was letting on. He had wanted to get the amulet back, after all.

"Well, yes, but that's what's got me so riled up today. They didn't even bother to send greetings on my birthday. Not even the spiteful one of last year. That's how much they have washed their hands of me for choosing to study magic, when it's the only way to help them."

 

Onmund paused before adding an afterthought. "Maybe I should just let them suffer the consequences of their ignorance."

Taslav couldn't quite believe caring, loving, sensitive Onmund had threatened it. The mighty Dragonborn was shocked to the core of his soul.

 


	4. Resolutions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has to be done. Urgently.

 

**Part 4: Resolutions.**

 

 _Maybe I should just let them suffer the consequences of their ignorance?_ No. NO. **_NO!_**

There was no way it could be left at that. Taslav knew Onmund would regret it for the rest of his days, if he let his family suffer any consequences at all. It would destroy him. It would destroy their love and marriage, too.

The confession had disturbed Taslav deeply, but he quickly recovered, when he reconsidered the man he had chosen to marry.

"There, there," soothed Taslav, as Onmund shed some more tears. "I know you don't mean that. Family means a lot to me, and I know it does to you, too. There's no way you'd have married me, and my four adopted orphans, if family relationships were not important to you."

"Of course relationships matter to me, my love," sobbed Onmund. "But the kids are safe at Lakeview Manor, cared for and protected by Jordis and Rayya. But my family? My family is just... _impossible_... to deal with." Onmund shook his leaking head in despair.

Taslav chuckled. "You know I can't resist an 'impossible' challenge."

It was the truth. Nothing motivated Taslav like something impossible. He gave it some thought while calming the flustered Onmund. A cunning plan stealthily crept into the back of his mind. Taslav concluded it was time to assert himself, and made the decision for them both.

"It's time to resolve this. Right now. I'm going to write to them, announcing we're coming to visit. Perhaps send them your report card, and demand to meet them to discuss your... _performance_?" A cheeky grin and raised eyebrow accompanied the innuendo, hinting at a consolation birthday present, but Onmund was too aghast to catch on.

"Oh, no, please don't! I mean, a report card? It would have to be bad, to warrant a house call. I couldn't bear that. They already despise magic, and a bad report would be intolerable. Just kill me now already."

Taslav smiled, and kissed Onmund lightly on his forehead. "Don't worry, Onmund. I'll find the right words. I'll be by your side all the way, I promise."

Another firm hug of reassurance shook Onmund about like a ragdoll. "We can do this. YOU can do this. I think this might heal the many years of damaging rift, if we do it right."

"Or it might damage the rift for many years to come," whispered an anxious Onmund.

 

 


	5. The Report Card.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Onmund's Family,
> 
> We are coming to visit you.

 

**Part 5: The Report Card.**

"Dear Mr and Mrs Bold-Finger,

 

I am obliged to inform you that Onmund has not been achieving the required standard of magic here at the College of Winterhold.

I believe he is being distracted by love affairs and unresolved emotional issues.

As Arch-Mage, I am writing to advise you that he and I shall need to visit you, to discuss his future studies.

Please expect our arrival sometime around the beginning of Frostfall.*

 

Yours Sincerely,

Taslav Vesnius

Arch-Mage, College of Magic, Winterhold."

*That gave about three weeks advance warning.

 

"You cannot be serious!" exclaimed a dismayed Onmund. "You can't _possibly_ send them this! I'll be banished forever. No way could I face them, after they read THAT."

Taslav snickered, before leading Onmund through his cunning plan. "So, tell me, what part is not true? Hmmmm?"

"Well, 'not achieving the required standard' for one."

"But you haven't. You've been far exceeding it."

"Oh," blushed Onmund, once again struggling to accept the compliment. "But they won't see it that way, will they?"

"Of course not," replied Taslav deviously. "Which is why it will make a much bigger impression on them, when I explain that in person. I'm planning to conjure up a few dangerous critters, some wild boars, perhaps a few wolves and/or skeletons, maybe a bear, or even a mammoth, for you to exterminate, right in front of them. There's nothing like a practical demonstration, to get the message across. They will never doubt you or your magical powers again, after this field trip."

 

Onmund blushed again. Taslav had always been kind and generous to him. Even when they had first met, the Imperial had been friendly and helpful to the lonely, despondent Nord. None of his personal business had mattered to Taslav. The man had just done what was needed, to retrieve his amulet, and be the best friend he could ever wish for. And the magical charm swept onward and upward, all the way to the Temple of Mara, culminating in a marriage ceremony.

Taslav's history had also not mattered, although the mostly implicit admissions about Lakeview Manor, where the four adopted orphans lived, had not given Onmund any reason to reconsider.

There was delightful Runa and charming Hroar, both scallywags from the Honorhall Orphanage.

There was Lucia, from Whiterun. Taslav was worried that Brenuin teaching her how to be a professional beggar, would one day lead her to the Thieves Guild, or prostitution, as she grew older. It is one thing to chose such professions out of free will. But to him it was unacceptable to impose such a career choice on an orphan, for survival.

And then there was Alesan, the little Redguard boy from Dawnstar. His tragic bad luck had been much harder than most. It made Onmund ashamed to think he had been having a bad time growing up, when he compared his life of relative unappreciated luxury with Alesan's heart-breaking tale of woe.

The kids were all adorable, and loved their new family home. Taslav made certain he visited them at least once a fortnight. And if College business kept him away, then the kids came to Winterhold for a weekend or two. He hadn't planned on being away from home so much, when the adoptions were made. But it was all being managed with devoted love, despite the distance. It wasn't what Taslav had wanted for them, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. He at least made sure, that they always felt loved and cared for. They never went without, or felt alone or abandoned. There was plenty of help about the manor, to make certain of that.

Even the scary and stern Jordis and Rayya, who took turns being dedicated nannies and vigilant guards, seemed to like and respect the man far more than they should. At first, Onmund could not comprehend how two such fearsome Housecarls could be persuaded to take on such demeaning roles. But the more he learned about Taslav, the more he understood how he earned the most unwavering loyalty from his allies and friends.

How could Onmund ever resist such warm compassion? _This_ was the kind of family he had always longed to be part of. His friendship with Taslav had just blossomed ever deeper into love. And then he was invited to be part of that family himself. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. In some ways, it was like Taslav had adopted an adult child in Onmund. But their marriage had always been one of equal partnership, despite their vastly unequal histories.

 

Onmund already knew just how charming Taslav could be. But could he charm his own relatives to accept magic, and his chosen path? Well, if he succeeded, then he could probably charm the fire right out of Alduin's mouth, too.

Onmund capitulated. "I still don't like it, my love. But I'll grin and bear it, if you really think meeting my family is a good idea."

"It's the best idea in the world, Onmund," chirped Taslav eagerly. He poured the wax and sealed the official letter. "Trust me. Destiny, remember? Now, I want this report going out with today's courier. Here, lick this stamp for me."

Taslav held out a postage stamp for the envelope. _Oh, yuck._ But, Onmund obediently screwed his eyes closed, leaned forward, moistened his lips, and stuck out his tongue to wet the foul tasting glue.

Only to find Taslav planted his mouth firmly over it instead, blocking any escape with an iron hand grasping him firmly behind his neck, for a bit of conjugal French hanky-panky.

There was plenty of time. The courier was not due for another two hours.

 


	6. Impressions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taslav launches the charm offensive, using the "big guns".
> 
> But Bleak Moor Farm makes multiple first impressions.

 

**Part 6: Impressions.**

 

Gunjar brought the magnificent carriage to a smooth halt in the soggy courtyard of Bleak Moor Farm. The four horses up front were steaming from their strenuous effort in the cold air of the early afternoon.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, my love?" asked a nervous Onmund, one final time.

"Yes. Absolutely sure, my dear Onmund. Never more sure, in fact. Destiny awaits us!"

"I think it's more... mud... actually." Onmund's dejected humor was depressingly accurate.

Taslav squeezed Onmund's hand, and leaned over for a delicate kiss, before opening the carriage door, and alighting regally upon the step as if to survey what might be his kingdom.

 

Onmund had shared a little about his relatives, as they prepared for the trip over the preceding weeks.

Ma had this plan. She had been grooming Yrsold, aiding and abetting her quest for a decent, preferably wealthy, husband, for some time now. If her daughter could marry enough wealth, then perhaps the family could leave this Divine-forsaken hole of a farm and live somewhere pleasant. Rorikstead, perhaps. Or maybe even the civilization of Solitude, along with the respect the family deserved. She was realistic, though. Her eye had mostly been on Erik the Slayer from nearby Rorikstead.

Taslav knew all about Erik. After all, he had personally encouraged and sponsored the boy, getting him started on his road to manly Slayerhood.

Forewarned and forearmed, Taslav knew that mage robes would be completely the wrong thing to be wearing, for making his first impression. He made sure he would look like a far superior catch than Erik indeed.

 

The cottage door opened, and Eirif Bold-Finger (aka "Ma") blockaded the doorway to see just who was desecrating her 'garden'.

Taslav engaged maximum charm mode. Plastering his broadest smile of gleaming teeth onto his face, he opened fire with "My, what a magnificent farm and home you have here, Mrs. Bold-Finger. I cannot imagine why in Tamriel Onmund would ever want to leave such a lovely place for the College of Winterhold."

The little hovel clinging on for dear life to the patchy tundra scarcely merited such words. But Ma was already preening her hair and smoothing her grubby housecoat, while watching the handsome man leap effortlessly from the carriage, and soil his gleaming riding boots by splashing down in a muddy splat of a sludgy puddle.

He didn't seem to notice. Taslav began carefully posing and posturing. Displaying and exhibiting himself, all disguised as wonderment, while he gaped in awe all around him, amazed by the incredible farm.

'Incredible' would be the perfect word, because to call it a farm stretches credibility quite a long way indeed. But it had a few meager fields of something that might be edible someday, plus a few chickens scratching about. It just about reached the minimum standard required to be defined as a farm.

"Who is it, Ma?" screeched the girly teenage voice from inside.

"Yrsold, come and greet the nice gentleman from the College properly," scolded Ma, making way and gesturing the girl should make all haste for the doorway.

Because the gentleman from the College was _very_ nice **_indeed_**. Taslav's outfit hit her spot **_perfectly_**.

 

 _Tall._ Check. _Dark._ Check. _Handsome._ Check... Check... Check... _Phew_ _!_ Check _him_ out. Far too much checking going on, for just one check.

His big biceps bulged beneath his expensively tailored jacket just enough to subtly shout, _I'm extremely buff_. The unbuttoned ruffled shirt plunging almost to his navel, exposed a massive masculine chest and some washboard abs that confirmed with much less subtlety, _I'm buffer than you can possibly imagine_. The powerful thighs testing the seams of his tight trousers were overshadowed by the snug mountainous contours about his crotch that explicitly revealed _I have a fantastic package, too_. But most importantly to Ma, it was the fabulous carriage, that screamed _and am extremely rich, by the way_ , from every gilded plank and ornate decoration, that really caught her eye.

Ma's wistful future ~~dreamboat~~ dreamworld was rudely interrupted, when Onmund spoiled it all by materializing at the carriage door. Her admiring smile faded, as she watched her disappointment of a son gingerly stepping down. That report card had been the final insult. _Not meeting required standards? Love affairs? Emotional issues? What shameful misdeeds had the **USELESS** boy been up to?_

The driver was already retrieving some small bags from the rear, when Taslav proceeded to stage 2, to recapture Ma's attention.

"I have presumed that Onmund and I will be able to spend the night here. Is that amenable to you?" purred the nice gentleman. "If so, I can send the carriage on to Solitude to conduct some business for me. It has been a while since the jarl last heard from her Thane."

This was a spell of mesmerization that went far beyond any known magic. Ma was enthralled in rapture. _Solitude? THANE?_ Weak-kneed, she almost wet herself while nearly fainting with delight. The nice gentleman was the infinite mine of pure gold and status she had always dreamed of.

She recovered smoothly enough. He looked young enough... maybe she could manipulate his interest... _game on!_ she concluded. Precisely as Taslav had intended.

"Why, yes. Yes, of course. Anything you wish, Sir," she gushed. _Thane,_ she thought again. Erik the Slayer was fast disappearing in her rear-view mirror, as she ushered Yrsold through the doorway to curtsey at the highly-attractive-in-more-ways-than-one potential future son-in-law that she was not going to let go of without a fight to the near death. She spruced up the girl's tousled hair, wiped some grime from her cheek, and whispered in her ear to smile sweetly.

"This is my daughter, Yrsold. She's not spoken for. Not _yet_ , anyway," giggled Ma alluringly, while Yrsold obediently went through the motions, smiled and curtseyed.

 

"But Ma, he's not a Nord, is he?" whispered Yrsold urgently through clenched teeth.

Ma whispered back through equally clenched grinning lips. "No, dear. I think he's Imperial. But never you mind, that's plenty close enough. This _is_ the man you are looking for."

 

Taslav beamed back an even bigger smile at the girl. "Why, hello, Yrsold. I can already see where you get your beautiful looks from!" he praised cheerfully. He could just hear a faintly muttered "Oh, please, give me strength," groaning from Onmund, sploshing down into the mud behind him.

Onmund took the bags from Gunjar, who tipped his hat in grateful goodbye. The horses galloped off, carriage thundering along behind, as he made good his escape for Solitude and the comfort of Proudspire Manor for the night.

Taslav squelched majestically to the doorway, bowed low, and kissed Ma’s hand to complete the greeting. Then did the same for Yrsold, when Ma shoved the girl’s filthy fingers at his face.

Onmund trudged through the mud behind, seeing all, and shaking his head in disbelief at how shamelessly Ma was pimping out his little sister. Little did they know, that Taslav was already spoken for...

Muddy footwear was ~~cleaned~~ made less muddy at the door, while Ma brewed some hot tea for the travelers. Taslav surveyed the main living room, with the big hearth, and various instruments of war proudly displayed above, while Onmund carried the bags upstairs to his old bedroom.

 

 _Wow! That's much worse than I had expected_ , thought an alarmed Taslav. GrandPa's humungous warhammer and armor were seriously impressive, indeed. But the centerpiece of the display was that helmet of destiny. The enormous dent that Onmund had grossly understated, had almost inverted the shape. The impression made _such_ an impression, dominating the view, that Taslav found he could not look elsewhere for long, before that fearsome 'feature' drew his eye back to it like a magnet.

 _Yup, just as I had expected,_ thought a cynical Onmund. He coughed repeatedly, smothered in the dust cloud raised when he dropped the bags onto the bed. _They haven’t even bothered to clean my room for me_ , he thought wretchedly, wiping a finger through the thick layer of muck coating the chest of drawers. He considered casting a mild destruction spell, to clear the detritus, but decided to leave that to Taslav. He was much better at that sort of selective magic.

Downstairs, he heard laughing and giggling as the two women flirted mercilessly with his husband. _This is all going to go horribly, utterly, wrong_ , he predicted fatalistically. _Destiny? No. Disaster, more like..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize, in hindsight, how cracky some of that looked:  
>  _Ma whispered back through equally clenched lips. “No, dear. I think he’s Imperial. But never you mind, that’s plenty close enough. This is the man you are looking for.”_
> 
> Imperial? These are not the droids you’re looking for?  
> Ahem, wrong fantasy genre. Sorry everyone. Completely unintentional, but after I pissed myself laughing when I saw it while editing, it just had to stay in...
> 
> Oh, and some of that obscure innuendo... did ya "spot" it?  
>  _Taslav’s outfit hit her spot perfectly._  
>  Usually something hits "the" spot perfectly. But Taslav's outfit, definitely hit Ma's "spot". Cough. Ahem.


	7. Humiliations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onmund disgraces his suffering family.  
> Suffers the disgrace of his family.  
> Suffers his disgraceful family.  
> All of the above.

 

**Part 7: Humiliations.**

 

"Ah, Onmund, there you are! Do sit down and have some of your Ma's delicious tea," invited Taslav brightly, when Onmund decided he couldn't hide in his bedroom any longer, and ventured downstairs to face the disgrace.

"Yes, Arch-Mage," answered Onmund sullenly. He was dreading the revelations to come. But clearly Taslav was waiting for his Pa and Golry to return, before breaching any significant subjects.

"I was just admiring the warhammer and armor hanging above the hearth. You must tell me how that helmet got so dented someday... It must have been an almighty fight." Taslav couldn't resist the little tease, but Onmund was in no mood to play.

Ma rubbed salt into the wound instead. "That all belonged to Onmund's GrandPa," she sneered. "But there wasn't a scratch on any of it, until Onmund had a go with it, and dropped the warhammer on his head. Stupid boy! If the helmet hadn't got in the way, he might have knocked some sense into himself instead."

"Really?" guffawed Taslav in fake astonishment, before applying the salve to Onmund's bit lip and grinding teeth. "It seems to me that he was wise enough to be wearing some protection in a dangerous situation," complimented the ever-affable nice gentleman, risking a wink as Onmund passed by the object of his absolute humiliation.

Onmund poured himself a cup of tea, because Ma hadn't bothered to consider doing that for him. He sat down at the table, invisible and ignored.

 

Perhaps far worse, Grandma Grandie was also up and about. She had risen from her death-bed, where she had been about to take her last breath any moment now, for the past five years or so, just to meet the charming future husband for Yrsold that Ma had now firmly dug her claws into.

Except that now, Yrsold had some competition. Because Grandie had miraculously discovered a new lease of life. The nice gentleman had revitalized her reputation as all woman, without the "G" in her name. She wasn't just sitting next to Taslav, she was rubbing up firmly against him, feeling every inch of that delectable manly body, including all the parts she shouldn't, while boldly accusing _him_ to be the culprit of all sorts of scandalously mischievous goings-on under the dining table.

" _Young man_ ," she would scold, playfully cuffing Taslav on the forearm with one hand, while cupping a firm feel down below with the other. "In my day, that would be a signal you wanted to make a dishonest woman out of me."

The old woman was completely shameless, just like the rest of the women in Onmund's family. But she was also experienced enough to shame any prostitute. And a handsome dish like Taslav was worth playing every sordidly seductive sleazy trick in her book of temptation for.

Of course, Taslav would protest his innocence, managing to fend off most of Grandie's more provocative fondling, all while the totally out-flanked Yrsold tried her naive best from his other side to match the randy old woman in the completely one-sided competition.

"Oh, you cheeky devil!" she exclaimed. "I've never been touched _there_ before! Are you suggesting something... naughty?" She sounded like the virginal maiden she was, sitting rigidly with her hands permanently clasped tightly in her lap, with enough clear gap between herself and Taslav to drive a horse and cart through.

And so it went on, for what seemed like days, had to be at least hours, but was in fact mere minutes of eye-rolling agony for the mortified Onmund.

He hung his head in humiliating disbelief, while the women pawed at and fought over Taslav. _No doubt even Ma was considering dumping Pa, so that she could get in on some of the smutty action, too_.

Taslav was a handsome hunk. No doubt about that. But that wasn't why Onmund had fallen in love with him. Totally unlike the three women who had instantly fallen in lust with him.

But through it all, every so often, Taslav would catch Onmund's eye for just long enough to let his man know this was all just part of the game, before a wink and resumption of the risque friskiness with the women. The plan itself would have to remain on hold, until the whole family was present.

And that postponement was a few truly grueling hours long, for both Pa and Golry were out checking the traps they had set, and it would be a while yet before they returned.

 

Ma did her best to run interference for Yrsold, keeping randy Grandie away from Taslav as best she could. She invited him into the kitchen, to taste the meal she was preparing with Yrsold's help. But when Grandie gave chase, she then told Yrsold to give him a tour of the house (whispering to her to take extra-long upstairs in her bedroom, because Grandie couldn't manage the stairs anymore).

Taslav was towed along behind the excited girl, killing time as merrily as he could. Waving goodbye and good luck to Onmund as the pair disappeared upstairs. They were gone for so long, that Onmund began to have some serious doubts about the fidelity of his husband.

 

Onmund sat alone at the table, muttering into his empty cup that it was now proven beyond all doubt, that he was of zero significance to his family. His only greeting had been the look of disappointment on Ma's face when he had climbed out of the carriage. And since then, only Taslav had spoken to him. Firstly about Ma's tea, and then in damage limitation when Ma spoke _about_ him and the helmet, but still not _to_ him.

 _Yup, it was all going about as badly as he had feared._ His worst nightmares were vindicated. They humiliated him at every opportunity, ignoring him completely for the rest. There hadn't even been a mention of his missed birthday.

He clearly wasn't wanted here. He was not considered part of this family anymore. He might as well not be alive, for all they cared. His decision to leave the farm, to study at Winterhold, was as good as the death sentence his parents had predicted. He certainly seemed to be dead in his family's eyes.

Without Taslav's limited support during the brief moments of acknowledgement, the ignominy of those afternoon shenanigans would have shamed him into casting some sort of spell of amnesia. Or maybe something more destructive. The humiliation was that unbearable...

 


	8. Revelations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pa and Golry are back. The family gathers for the meal.
> 
> But, the uncomfortable discussion at the dinner table does not go down very well. 
> 
> Especially for Onmund, when Taslav's skeletons come charging out of the closet.
> 
> The plan lies in ruins, while Onmund rues the Destiny that lies ahead.

 

**Part 8: Revelations.**

 

After an eternity of an afternoon, Pa and Golry returned with the solitary scrawny rabbit their snares had caught. Taslav seemed mightily impressed, as if this achievement was incomparably excellent. Onmund watched in ever-greater despair, as his Pa and big brother puffed up their chests with pride, happy to believe they were the supremely talented hunters Taslav assured them they were.

But once the admiration subsided, the suspicions began, as the prelude to the revelations that would follow later.

Pa thought he recognized the face, as did Golry. They disappeared outside to the small barn for a quick powwow about it, but disagreed about where they thought they knew Taslav from. They agreed to confront him about it, at the dinner table. Because, they both strongly felt that Taslav was _not_ the Arch-Mage he purported to be.

 

Ma had taken firm charge of the seating arrangements, parking Taslav right next to Yrsold on one bench, and banishing Grandie to the opposite side of the table. But Grandie was one step ahead, bagging the seat between Onmund and Golry, placing herself within range of the fine young specimen of a virile lover. Pa sat at the head of the table, with Ma at the other end.

The honored guest gave thanks for the meal so lovingly prepared, and the warm hospitality of the welcoming family he was enjoying. Onmund tried his best not to gag, while gaining a whole new appreciation for how Taslav could charm the feathers off a chicken. He obviously hadn't yet seen the layer of dust waiting for them in the bedroom. Yrsold wouldn't have shown him in _there_ during her tour, for sure.

They all tucked in to the watery stew, with something close to bits of rind and gristle accompanying the occasional stray vegetable, but the sweetrolls were peculiarly palatable. Onmund observed the expression on Ma's face as she took her first bite, and her total surprise confirmed his suspicions. Taslav must have "adjusted" things in the kitchen, while she wasn't looking. It was the only explanation that made any sense, because Ma's sweetrolls were always, well, words fail to adequately describe, but "not sweet" gives some idea.

Meanwhile, the momentary look of absolute horror on Taslav's face also had only one possible explanation. Grandie was already playing footsie with his groin. He squirmed awkwardly away from the probing toes and sniggering old woman, standing up to propose an impromptu toast.

"To the future goodwill of the Bold-Fingers," he declared. The three women all drew a deep breath, believing that meant his body and wealth were soon to be coming their way. The men had their own ideas about that. However, the differing visions of every Bold-Finger were not mutually exclusive.

"Thank you, Taslav," responded Pa. "We all know you are here as the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, to tell us about Onmund's failings." He cast a stern look of disapproval in Onmund's direction.

Onmund wished his seat would magically disappear, and the ground would swallow him up without trace. But the unwelcome attention vanished rather more quickly than he hoped for, when Pa unexpectedly switched his scathing attack.

"But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before. In Solitude, perhaps? Being made Thane by the jarl?" Pa glared accusingly at Taslav, as if he had uncovered the mastermind of some malevolent plot.

Ma bobbed her head excitedly, already believing this to be true, while kicking Yrsold under the table, and gesturing she should snuggle in a bit closer to the target boyfriend. "Go on, girl. Make the most of this opportunity," she whispered urgently to her daughter.

Taslav reluctantly confessed this was indeed the truth.

The women collectively gasped, countless septims of Imperial Solitude sparkling seductively in front of their eyes from Taslav's new ivory tower in the capital city. Yrsold fumbled clumsily at his arm, trying to pull him closer.

But Pa wasn't finished yet. "So, that means you are also the Dragonborn of legend, does it not?" Pa smirked triumphantly at Golry, satisfied he had already won the argument about Taslav's secret identity.

Even more gasps of disbelief from the women. The ivory Solitude tower ascended serenely upwards. The Blue Palace hove firmly into view, then sank below the ever-rising tower.

Once again, Taslav reluctantly admitted this was also true. He asked forgiveness for not declaring these facts upfront, because usually this caused... problems. The women understood what he meant. The ivory tower was already so high, they were feeling giddy from the vertigo.

 

He glanced knowingly at Onmund as he finished, pleading with his eyes for forgiveness, but expecting to see understanding. Because this much, Onmund must already know. Not explicitly, for they had never spoken about it, but from deduction.

Jordis and Rayya would not be at Lakeview, were he not Thane of both holds. That he was also the Dragonborn, had been accidentally revealed while defeating an attacking dragon, on one of their trips to visit the children at the manor.

Onmund was plenty clever enough to have already worked all this out, and the disconcertingly condemning _'I knew it'_ look on his grim face confirmed as such.

 

Ma almost swooned in admiration. "The _Dragonborn?_ " she breathed reverentially. "But that means you must be the man who helped young Erik - Erik from Rorikstead - fulfill his lifelong ambition and become Erik the Slayer, the fabled adventurer."

"Yes, indeed, I am the one and same person, Mrs. Bold-Finger. Erik was an excellent companion while he followed me. A very talented fighter. He just needed a little help to get started. And now he is more than competent, to forge his own way as a highly skilled warrior."

Taslav was getting nervous now. This was something Onmund had not known, and the little cough and extended pause in his eating made Taslav deeply uncomfortable. He knew how it looked from Onmund's point of view - that Erik was plenty handsome enough, to be a former boyfriend and lover. That Onmund was not his first and only, but merely the current fling in who knows how many other historical partners and conquests Taslav might have hidden away in his skeletons closet, and lurking in his future destiny... It was not surprising that Onmund was having some trouble, digesting this little secret nugget about Taslav's former companion. Taslav dearly wished he could take Onmund aside for a moment, to defuse the bomb now primed. But they were both trapped at the very public dinner table.

 

"Oh, please, call me Eirif," giggled Ma. That she now had Erik the Slayer's mentor and benefactor in Yrsold’s potential wedding vows, poor Erik was already long since abandoned and discarded from consideration. The Blue Palace had long since vanished beneath the clouds... the Divines would be appearing any moment now...

 

But now it was Golry's turn...

Undeterred by Pa's early victory, he made his own accusation. "I reckon I've seen you hanging around in Whiterun. Frequenting Jorrvaskr a bit too much, to not be a member of the Companions. AmIright?"

 

Onmund spluttered on his latest mouthful of stew, unable to swallow, but neither spitting it out. _The Companions?_ He knew that Taslav did not like to brag about his past accomplishments, to the point that he never mentioned them. To be the Dragonborn, and Thane of two holds, was success enough already. But he was also the youngest ever Arch-Mage of the College, despite beginning his first lesson alongside Onmund. Surely that was more than enough achievement for someone barely older than himself? Surely Taslav could not _also_ be involved with the Companions?

Taslav looked Onmund directly in the eye for an intensely awkward, significant, apologetic, moment. He lowered his spoon with carefully precise etiquette and concern. A rare glimpse of tortured discomfort showed on his face, before he took a deep breath, and confessed: "Yes, Golry, you are indeed correct. In fact, I am the Harbinger of the Companions."

 _Harbinger?_ Not just a member of the Companions, but their _leader?_ Poor Onmund didn't just choke. The entire mouthful of sickening stew he was struggling to confine, went completely down the wrong pipe as he gasped through the wrong orifice. He fell backwards off the bench, landing heavily on the floor, unable to breathe with the fluid blocking his airway. The shock of this latest revelation burned even hotter than the flames in his lungs.

Ma tutted away. "Typical Onmund. Making a scene to grab all the attention. Ignore him, he'll be fine once his tantrum is over."

She switched back to sweet-talking her future son-in-law. "Please, Taslav, do tell us more of your adventures." But he did not react.

She tried everything to regain Taslav's attention, whispering urgent instructions in Yrsold's ear about how to fondle and caress her man, while shoving her daughter into firm contact with that prime beefcake.

But Taslav was aware of no-one but Onmund, since the moment he had begun that last revelation. Onmund was down, and not getting up. Taslav could hear him struggling, thrashing about, gurgling something ghastly, but quite unable to breathe.

He did not hesitate long. He jumped up, ran around the table, and helped Onmund to sit up. The family could not see the glowing hand on Onmund's back, dissipating the foreign material in his lungs, and quickly healing the physical damage and pain.

But Taslav's magic could do nothing for the emotional devastation he had just unleashed, shattering their relationship with this latest disclosure of his secret past.

With their unequal histories now more lop-sided than ever, and significant doubts about just... _what_... Taslav was (rumors about the Companions being widely known) Onmund could no longer accept Taslav was genuine in his love for someone as less-than-ordinary as himself. 

 

The accusing distrust in Onmund's eyes slayed Taslav to the core. Taslav was in tears when he spoke gently, quietly, in all sincerity: "I am so sorry, Onmund. I should have shared all this with you much earlier."

"Yes, Taslav, you should have," came the cold and bitterly hurt reply. "I'm not even sure I recognize the man I married anymore."

 ** _MARRIED?_**  

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Every single spoon around the table fell loudly from stunned, limp fingers.

 

Mouths hung open. Yrsold burst into tears. Ma was speechless. Pa stared at Golry, wondering if he was also that way inclined. Golry glared back, but mostly because he was standing his ground, angry with the accusation, not because he was entirely sure one way or the other.

Grandie was thinking _So what?_ She knew she was good enough to make _any_ man scream and beg for it - it just meant weak, useless Onmund was the new competition. She crowed with the idea of bedding the stunning stud tending to her pathetic grandson, kneeling right there within groping distance. Her hand reached out to claim her prize, when her false teeth fell out in her excitement.

 

However...

_Married?_

The same word echoed around every Bold-Finger head in the house.

All except Onmund's. He was beginning to wish he had never agreed to Taslav's proposals. Both of them. The one to get married, and the equally insane idea to visit his family. _Too late for regrets now. Destiny be damned. Disaster it most certainly was_.

 

He was thinking clearly enough to know he didn't want to be cornered in his grotty bedroom, so he fled for the front door, and disappeared into the frigid darkness, nursing his gravely wounded soul.

His angry thoughts stampeded ahead. _Taslav can pick up the pieces. It's his wreckage. He can fix it on his own. He likes 'impossible' challenges. Well, he's got the mother of all of them now._

 


	9. Wreckage.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taslav tries to pick up the pieces, after his world is shattered by Onmund's departure.
> 
> The family are happy enough to learn Taslav is _already_ their in-law. 
> 
> But as much as they adore him, he worries only about Onmund.

 

**Part 9: Wreckage.**

 

Onmund's rapid departure out of the front door took Taslav by complete surprise. He knew that his secret past was something that he should have shared fully with Onmund, but he feared the love of his life would have been too intimidated by it, to come any closer. And now that they were married, it had all seemed... irrelevant.

The reality was, Taslav had just been dealt the biggest blow of his life. The wreckage was not life threatening, except in the sense that it threatened his emotional stability. He tried to muster the physical strength to chase after Onmund, to console and explain all, and repair what damage he could. But he was powerless. His legs felt too weak to even stand up.

He was struggling to hold back more tears of dismay, when the commotion of the re-animated family trapped him in the room.

First, there was an incoming hand from Grandie to fend off. Then he noticed her false teeth, on the floor next to his knee. He automatically picked them up, and returned them to the gurning old woman.

"Why, fank you, young mansh," she gummed, leaning over to kiss him. She aimed for his lips, of course, but he turned his head, so she landed on his cheek. Fully committed to her lunge for glory, she overbalanced from the bench, requiring him to catch her in his big, strong, arms.

It made her day. _He's all over me,_ she thought, sniggering mischievously. _I'm going to have some special fun tonight... He's all mine now. With Onmund gone, I'll soon be rubbing my victory up and down his flagpole for sure._

The rest of the family watched the deluded old woman pretending to need far more of Taslav's help than required. They were speechless, but not just by her antics.

 

 _Married,_ echoed that word again. Married...

 

Ma connected the dots first. Taslav was _already_ her son-in-law. No need to pimp out Yrsold into marrying the man. He was _already_ snared, bound, and hogtied.

She spoke up first. "Please, tell me Taslav, what was it like, being made Thane in the Blue Palace?" Her dreams of the sparkling septims of a high life in the royal court of Solitude, as Mother-in-Law of the Thane, had become instant reality with that one paradigm-shifting word of _married_.

Taslav was still struggling to cope, torn between his irresistible desire to chase after Onmund, and the family now clawing at him from all directions. So he answered with simple distracted brevity, and not the flamboyant flair of the afternoon.

"It is perhaps the most impressive palace in Skyrim, Eirif. But not a home in which I would want to live. Too much protocol, pomp and ceremony. And... responsibility." _Like, how I failed to be the responsible husband Onmund deserves._     

"But the courtesans, and parties, and splendid grandeur? Surely that makes it all worthwhile?" pressed Ma.

"Perhaps for some. I don't enjoy that. There are far more important things to be concerned with, than enjoying oneself." _Like, being a dependable and caring husband, that cherishes my partner and family properly._

"But as Thane, I expect you have status and respect, and perhaps a nice house in the capital city?" Ma refused to let go of her aspirations.

"Yes, I do own a house there. Proudspire Manor. Nice enough place, next to the Bard's college, with some lovely sea views. But a nice house does not make it a nice home, nor a pleasant place to live." _It's the loving companionship of a devoted partner that does that._

"Just how big is it, precisely? I'd love to see it someday..." This was Ma inviting herself into the place now, fed up with alluding to what she was asking for. _This guy had exactly what she wanted, and she wanted him to let her have it. Now, already._

Meanwhile Grandie squealed with glee at the innuendo. She would love to see just how big something _other_ than the house was, and was still relishing her close encounter of the solicitous kind with Taslav.  _This guy had exactly what she wanted, too, and she wanted him to let her have it. Now, already. It was practically right there within her grasp..._ She had a dizzy moment just thinking about it, granting Taslav a temporary reprieve, while letting herself linger in his embrace a while longer.

"Of course. Any time you like, Eirif," granted a monotone Taslav. "Whenever you're in Solitude, please feel free to stay at the Manor. My home is your home. You're family now." _And I pray to Mara it stays that way._

Ma almost swooned. Too soon to consider a permanent move to the place - she'd have to milk Taslav for enough gold for the right clothes to go swanning about around Solitude like she wanted to, and procure the right introduction to the Jarl. But she had wedged the door wide open, and all would come her way in time. Drifting away in her utopian dreams, she paused her insistent nagging long enough for another Bold-Finger to have a go.

 

Yrsold stepped up next. She knew this was not the man she was going to marry anymore, but there was something else bothering her. She was still underage, but she knew enough about the birds and the bees to ask the most inappropriate question, in the most blunt way. "So, you and Onmund, then? How does that work? I mean, it takes a Pa and a Ma to make babies, doesn't it? How does a Pa and a Pa manage that? Will one of you become a Ma, or something?"

The bold question even made Grandie turn a light shade of pink. Taslav was more than a little astonished to hear such frankness, but "out of the mouths of babes" and all that... Not that Yrsold was a babe in either sense of the word.

"Good question, Yrsold," placated a fast-thinking Taslav. "You are right, it does need a Pa and a Ma to make babies. But both Onmund and myself will remain as we are. So, no, we can't make babies. But that doesn't mean we can't raise children. In fact, I have four kids of my own already." _And I hope they aren't about to lose one of their Pa's._

Grandie jumped back in, giddy moment over, still exploring every inch of Taslav's every muscle, pretending to need his full support. "I knew it, you promiscuous boy," she whooped, grabbing determinedly for his endowment once again. "You'll have your way with any woman, won't you?"

Her surprisingly nimble fingers _almost_ found a way inside his trousers. But her roving hands pulled him back to his senses. Taslav firmly sat the old woman back down on her seat, before moving out of groping range. He wandered slowly back towards his seat, while he spoke.

"No, Grandie, it isn't like that," he insisted. "I've adopted some orphans, to give them a better chance in life than their unfortunate beginnings. Not all children grow up, with a Ma and Pa to look after them, like Yrsold, Golry, and Onmund." _Ouch. Just saying his name, made his heart ache with a pain he had never felt before._

Taslav told them about the four little orphans. Llewellyn the Bard was a decent artist, too, and had drawn each of the four children, posed against various dramatic background views from Lakeview Manor. He pulled out their pictures, and passed them around, while he told the Bold-Fingers of their histories. Even Pa felt himself choking up, when the particularly emotional tale of Alesan was shared.

Ma, on the other hand, was having an orgasm of delight. "Oh, my, aren't they _precious!_ " she squeaked. "Pa - we are grandparents already - isn't that _wonderful?_ " But while one eye admired the cute little children, she had spent too many years analysing other things. The other practiced eye was trained enough, to be noticing the unfamiliar background, that was _really_ tickling her fancy. Alesan had been sketched on the balcony, with the view of the Lake in the background. _I guess that's why it's called 'Lakeview Manor'_ , she reasoned. _But... what a lake... what a **view**... what a **manor**..._ "Ummm, Taslav? Where is this place, exactly? Is this the College? I though Winterhold was a little more... wintery."

"No, it's not Winterhold or the College," replied Taslav, cursing himself that he would now have to spend yet _more_ time revealing yet _more_ secrets, all while the yawning chasm between himself and the fleeing Onmund was gaping wider and wider.

_Perhaps Onmund had been right. Perhaps the rift would be damaged for many years to come._

"That's Lakeview Manor. I built it myself, in a rural part of Falkreath. And yes, before you ask, that does mean I am also Thane of that hold, too."

 

Ma was having multiple orgasms now. _Another_ Thane title? _Another_ manor house? A countryside retreat? A holiday home? In the not-so-frozen Falkreath? With a view to _die_ for? And... and... _Grandkiddies!_ She felt the urge to start baking some more sweetrolls immediately. But her knees were far too weak to stand up just at that moment, between the hot flushes and dizzy spells.

 

It was Pa's turn to hold out the begging bowl. "Built it yourself, eh? I wish I was strong enough to do that. But this old knee injury niggles me something awful. Somedays, I find it difficult just to walk to the barn to fetch the eggs the chickens laid." He was a little more tactful than the Bold-Finger women. He skirted around the question being asked, hoping his new son-in-law would prove as affably generous to him, as he was to these four orphans.

Taslav played his excessive over-achievement down a little. "Well, I had some help, building it, of course. But Onmund had mentioned you were badly wounded as a soldier. Please, tell me what happened?"

Taslav was desperate for some respite, to let someone else do the talking, so he could think through how to put his rampaging skeletons back in the closet, and undo the havoc they had wreaked on his marriage. Building Lakeview Manor had been a doddle, compared with the freshly created impossible challenge of reconciling with Onmund.

Pa gladly reminisced about the good old days, and his favorite tale of heroic bravery. "I was patrolling the towers West of Whiterun. Ambushed, we were! Must have been fifty bandits against our squad of five. We defended the tower for hours. I took down at least twenty of them myself. But then, one archer got in a lucky shot. His arrow bounced off a castellation, deflected 90 degrees, and went straight into my knee."

Pa paused for dramatic effect, to roll up a trouser leg, and expose the miniscule scar that Taslav had to look twice to find.

"We saw them off, the bastards, but my knee's never been the same since. I just yanked out the arrow myself, and walked back to Whiterun, even helping to carry a fellow wounded guard. But, it never healed right. Aches all the time, sometimes really hurts bad, and goes all stiff somedays." Pa rolled his trouser leg down again.

"Look, up there, next to the greaves - that's the arrowhead that hit me. You can see the bit missing from the tip. I reckon that bit of metal is stuck inside my knee, and it needs expensive surgery to remove. Worse yet, there's a fair chance I might lose the leg, if the surgery goes wrong. I wish I could get myself properly fixed up, but I just can't afford it." Pa discarded his tact, and begged for the money through the back door instead.  

Taslav stood up to have a closer look at the source of Pa's demise. _Yes, the tip was certainly missing. Brittle fracture, too. Probably broke off when it hit the stone castellation. Almost no chance, it would break like that inside Pa's knee. Even the most inept removal, would most likely just cut the bone and cartilage a bit, and he'd feel the pain far too much, to do anything more than draw it out in the opposite direction to how it went in. Even the scar was so small, it seemed more likely the arrow had barely broken the skin, if it had penetrated at all, after losing momentum hitting the stone. Pa's lingering injury, was not because of shrapnel inside. It would be trivial to fix, with the right healing spell. But, it seemed like the mind needed fixing, more than the knee..._

Taslav had many skills. Far too many, really. Which is why he kept them secret, for fear of making others feel vanishingly small and inadequate. That had been his undoing with Onmund. _There's that name again, stabbing him right through his heart, quite unlike this arrow that barely scratched Pa's knee..._

"I understand your pain, Mr. Bold-Finger. Over my battles, I too have picked up a few niggling injuries. But nothing as crippling as this vicious arrow has done to you." The charming Taslav was regaining his former grandeur, fighting to get up, struggling against the pain in his chest pressing him down. The analysis of the arrowhead, had helped to switch him away from the pure emotional pain, and into some problem-solving thinking.

Pa continued the sucking up. His plan was going well, so far. "Oh, please, call me Knudek. Or, 'Pa', if you like. After all, you are family now." Pa could not resist the temptation to make Taslav feel obligated to assist his family in any and every way possible. _Those orphans had it made. Why shouldn't a little of that ~~good~~ gold fortune come his way too?_

Taslav knew what game was being played, but he was still too tortured by what he had done to Onmund, to play along with any enthusiasm.

"Of course, Pa. I'm quite sure I can get you the best surgeons in all of Skyrim to sort out your knee. The best in Tamriel, if need be. The cost is not a problem."

Taslav knew that surgery would have little more than a placebo effect. If it worked, it would be because Pa believed it to be effective. They'd never find the shrapnel, though. The lack of evidence, not finding the tip of the arrow, might convince Pa that his knee could never be fixed, when there was really nothing wrong with it in the first place.

 

Taslav's thoughts sparked onto a glimmer of hope for the mission objective:  
_Was it too soon, to reveal that a magical healing would fix him for sure, and pose no risk whatsoever to him losing his leg, in a botched and/or infected surgical operation? He had just healed Onmund's lungs, without them seeing it. Was this the first wedge, to get them to accept magic was not the pure evil they believed it to be?_

But priorities had changed. Right now, Onmund was all that mattered.

 

Pa was thrilled, regardless. "Oh, thank you so much, Son! I'll be able to run this challenging farm so much better, with my leg working properly again." He had jumped onto Ma's bandwagon, dangling further bait in front of Taslav, that perhaps he would also provide them with... more amenable accommodations.

Then Yrsold began whinging about her lack of nice clothes, and sparkling jewelry. Ma had stopped pestering her to be nice to the nice gentleman. But all she had ever been taught, was to desire beautiful baubles. And Taslav was still the sugar daddy she was looking for, to give her all of the expensive finery Ma had conditioned her to seek.

Taslav ignored her. _Onmund, where are you? How do I fix this?_

Last of all, Golry lamented his poor armor, and weapons, and hinted that perhaps Taslav could assist him, much like he done for Erik the Slayer. It was perhaps a less demanding appeal than the others, and delivered far more honestly. He hadn't asked for a free membership of the Companions, or for a recommendation with the Solitude Legion, for example.

At a different moment, Taslav might have responded much more favorably.

But...  
Taslav was getting fed up with the selfish demands of this family. They were all still missing the point. None of them could see what (or rather, _who_ ) really mattered. And for Taslav, getting them to see what mattered, didn't even matter anymore.

Reconciling the family, had been superseded by a much bigger challenge. Taslav was moving beyond the shock of the moment, and thinking about what he needed to do next, to reconcile with Onmund, first and foremost.

Onmund was out there, distraught, upset, betrayed, alone and apparently forgotten, in this blackest of nights, while this miserable excuse for a family were more interested in feathering their individual nests. There was no concern about the well-being of their own flesh and blood. Onmund was kin, and Taslav a mere in-law. And yet they had all instantly put him far ahead of Onmund in their pecking order. Despite Onmund's absence, he sure felt like the hen-pecked husband right now.

 

Taslav surveyed his new in-laws with invisible contempt:

Ma and Pa were poor parents indeed. Making excuses, controlling, demanding, blaming anything and everyone but themselves. Pa's story was undoubtedly embellished beyond all recognition. He had run away from military life as soon as possible, for the most insignificant reason, and _was still using it_ to avoid doing much work about the farm. Ma wanted it all, but had to have everything given to her. The way she manipulated Yrsold was deplorable. And even her cooking was unpalatable.

GrandPa's legacy mattered little, despite his warrior heritage displayed so proudly and prominently. Being a soldier had got him killed. And yet, they both pushed their sons in that direction, regardless of their suitability for it. They had taught their children that being a traditional warrior Nord, mattered most.

And then they had abandoned that principle, instantly chasing after him, an Imperial no less, as soon as they learned what they could leach from him. _Hypocrites._

 

Grandie he could respect, in a scary way - the vivacious old woman had far more "go" in her than any succubus he knew of. And seeking such gratification from Taslav, was as much a compliment to his scrumptious body, than a purely self-centered desire to pleasure herself with him. Those bedrooms eyes sizing him up and down, roving over his body, lingering lustfully around his crotch, said she was still determined to have her way with him, to show him what divine ecstasy she could inflict upon him, despite the revelations about his sexuality, and being married already. He was more than a little fearful of what she might do with and to him, if she ever properly got her hands on him.

Golry and Yrsold? Taslav sympathized. With parents like these, pushing and cajoling their children in impossible directions, they had little chance of succeeding in life. If they did find any success, it would bring zero happiness.

But Onmund? Dear, sweet Onmund... _There was that unbearable pain again._ Taslav's heart ached with ever more intense agony, seeing what Onmund had had to fight against, to find his way to the college.

 

It had been easy for Taslav to let Onmund fill his own heart with joy at their union. But now he was bleeding out from the gaping wound, where Onmund had ripped him asunder, tearing that heart right out of his chest, and taking it with him as he fled into the darkness.

His emotions still ran immensely high, but Taslav regained enough control of his feelings, to take charge of the situation at last.

"I am rather worried about Onmund," he declared. The blunt reminder of the absent Bold-Finger instantly halted all of the incessant begging for handouts, silencing the enthusiastic pleas for 'please give me something'.

"I need to find him," insisted Taslav. "Where would he go?" The question was as much a test to see if the family knew Onmund _at all_ , because he suspected he already knew the answer, himself.

Ma and Pa just shrugged their shoulders. The fluttering eyelashes from Grandie just made him more deeply unsettled than ever, convincing him to lock the bedroom door later that night, if such a moment came. Yrsold was completely disinterested, picking away silently at her revolting meal. Only Golry showed a slight inkling.

"I think there's an old shelter somewhere to the East, that he used to visit now and then."

"Greenspring Hollow?" suggested Taslav.

"Oh, you know it, then," answered a surprised Golry.

"I know _OF_ it," replied Taslav. "But I have no idea how to find it. Will you please show me the way, Golry?"

"Well, errr, yeah, OK, I guess." Golry didn't really have any idea what to do. But with silent parents, and the resolute eyes of a tenacious Taslav boring though his soul like butter, he felt obliged to help out.

Taslav made a mental note. _Golry is OK. At least Big Brother was watching out for Onmund. A bit. More than anyone else in this household, anyway._

He added an addendum while they grabbed some simple weapons: _I must find out whose idea it was, that Onmund should wear the helmet for that crucial sparring session..._ And then Golry was leading the way across the garden of mud, towards Greenspring Hollow.

Taslav had a deep sense of foreboding like never before, and it grew with every step. He shivered. The wreckage of the evening thus far, was just the tip of the iceberg lurking ahead. Destiny was too close for comfort.

 


	10. Engagement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onmund heads for the one place he can still call sanctuary, to lick his emotional wounds, and consider his marital status. 
> 
> But he finds someone else to engage, waiting for him there.

 

**Part 10: Engagement.**

 

Onmund had indeed been running to Greenspring Hollow. Muttering furiously, cursing his misfortune. And now saddled with a husband he didn't really know, or trust anymore. _He didn't even come chasing after me. Damn him_.

Head in a spin, Onmund wasn't even beginning to think about how to "work things out", or consider permanently abandoning his very recently estranged husband, perhaps seeking divorce or annulment.

By the time his initial sprint had slowed to a jog, the amulet banging against his chest nudged his thoughts onto a different path.

 _Taslav recovered that amulet for me. It would not now be hanging from the chain around my neck if he hadn't. He didn't have to do that._ Not for someone as insignificant and trivial as Onmund had been, when they first met.

_Face it, Onmund, you're **nothing** compared with that empire of the Dragonborn, Thane of Solitude, Thane of Falkreath, builder of Lakeview Manor, adopter of four orphans, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College, mentor and probable partner of Eric the Slayer, and who knows what other titles, accomplishments, and conquests._

It did not occur to him, to add 'husband of Onmund' into that list.

The awkward question haunted him with every step: _Why had Taslav bothered to help him?_

The amulet hammered the answer into him, every time it slapped his heaving chest. _Perhaps that secret empire was trivially unimportant, compared with how much Taslav valued him._

As small-minded as his little world had been, seeing only his family and their ignorant attitude towards himself and magic, Taslav had come from a much bigger, brilliant, _glorious_ , place. And yet he had treasured Onmund ahead of all of that impressive achievement.

Taslav had vowed to be forever bound together in love at the Altar. Before this night, he had never for one moment given Onmund any reason to doubt Taslav's loyalty, or commitment, or _priority_ , to that promise.

Perhaps Taslav had seen Onmund's self-doubt. Had felt his insecurity, about his worth. That the little amulet that defined the entirety of Onmund's world, would be crushed and squashed into oblivion, when compared against the vastness of Taslav's immensely broad horizons. If Taslav had shared all of his magnificence, Onmund would have withdrawn, considering him to be so far out of his league, they could never even just be friends, never mind come together as a couple.

 _But he chose YOU, Onmund. Together forever. In joy, and in hardship._ Every time that amulet hit his breast, Onmund felt that indefatigable message. This was certainly a hardship he had not expected. But, was it really so hard? Why did it hurt so much, to hear the truth about the man who had promised union in eternal companionship? _Because he knew the truth would scare you away. Just like it did, tonight._

He was walking now, holding the amulet against the straining chain, to look at it with enlightened eyes. It was showing him more about the man he had chosen to marry, than he had ever seen before.

He was still staring at the amulet when he stumbled into Greenspring Hollow, his only sanctuary in this hostile world. Then froze in horror, to find it already occupied, by his worst nightmare.

 

Drelas was there, raiding the apothecary remnants.

" _HOW **DARE** YOU DISTURB **ME**_ ," shrieked the dark mage, before launching an Ice Spike at Onmund. It pierced his tormented heart.

Onmund did not think. He could only react. He had only one place to go, one person to ask, for help. Drelas was so far out of his league, that suddenly Taslav was right back in Onmund's.

Blundering blindly through the darkness, Onmund fled for his life, zigging and zagging his way back towards the house, trying to dodge the attack spells from the Dunmer chasing in hot pursuit. _Taslav will know what to do,_ was his only terrified thought.

He cast his Lesser Ward for protection, but it barely helped against Drelas' powerful attacks. Sometimes he would return fire with a Lightning Bolt or two, to catch his breath from behind the safety of a rock, and give Drelas reason to pause the chase.

But Drelas was incensed. He had not been hassled since that pathetic Legion had dared to attack him, two decades ago. The fools had been annihilated with ease. But the brooding fury of all that time since, was unleashed on this single youngling of a Nord, that had dared to get in his way. He could not be allowed to live, to tell anyone that Drelas was now venturing out beyond his cottage, seeking new things to learn, and wider pastures to harvest from.  

 

Not far beyond Ma's garden, Taslav could already hear the exchange of spellfire. He ordered Golry back to the cottage, with a deluge of instructions. _Barricade the windows, douse the hearth, get the family safely protected behind_ _the upturned table, prepare as much cover as you can, but please leave the front door open for him to get back inside._ _Prepare for battle, this is going to be... big._ A wide-eyed Golry just nodded, and obediently scarpered for the relative safety of the house.

Taslav cautiously advanced towards the running battle, that was definitely coming closer. _Two mages, exchanging attacks._ That much was obvious. He guessed Onmund was one. But that meant the other one must be... Oh, **_NO_**. _Please, no, by the Divines, let me be wrong. Or, in time at least... I **cannot** lose him. Not **now**! Not like **this!** This is **not** a Destiny I can accept.  
_

 

When at last they found each other again, Onmund was out of magicka, his ward fading. He was badly injured and barely standing, never mind running. But the couple were reunited before it was too late.

No words were spoken. They were not needed. The eyes and urgency of the situation said everything, including all necessary apologies. For _everything_.

 

Taslav cast a protection ward, transmitted some Healing Hands, then restored Onmund's own magicka. He grimly suggested Onmund keep firing the Lightning Bolt, to cover their retreat back to the house.

The dazed Onmund did as he was asked, too bewildered to ask why Taslav didn't use his own powerful spells, or Dragonborn Shouts, to fend off Drelas. Onmund's feeble Bolts seemed virtually irrelevant, for the miniscule damage they dealt the dark mage. He might as well be using a pea-shooter.

But Taslav was thinking ahead of the game once more. He stayed low, hiding behind Onmund as they retreated. Drelas never saw the reinforcement that had arrived to save Onmund. The Nord kept him pinned down behind cover by those feeble Lightning Bolts, until they had reached the cottage.  

Taslav raced into the house first, and hid behind the door. Onmund followed him inside, but halted abruptly in the doorway. He saw his family cowering behind the upturned table, scared eyes wide with terrified fear. Golry had done as Taslav had instructed, but it caused a large amount of consternation in the process. The Bold-Fingers knew magic was evil, but they had never expected to see it this close and personal. Not in their _own home_.

 

It dawned on Onmund, that _this_ was the battle he had always feared would come, someday. This was why he had gone to the College, to study magic. He was nowhere near ready for it, completely unprepared and lacking in skill, but the time was upon him _now_. Bracing himself in the doorway, he turned to challenge the dreaded Drelas, engage his deadly nemesis in mortal combat, and discover his true Destiny.

 


	11. Caution.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throw caution to the wind and risk all?
> 
> Or be too cautious, and maybe lose because they weren't aggressive enough?
> 
> Plenty of margin for Taslav to err, but Drelas does not have the dilemma of Tolfdir's teachings about Caution.

 

**Part 11: Caution.**

 

Taslav hadn't planned it this way at all. But it _could_ work. If he showed himself to Drelas in any way, either as mage or warrior or shouty Dragonborn, the dark mage would probably think twice and abort the fight. There was still time to do that later, if necessary, but he hoped to give the family a stonking good show first.

Drelas was not a foe he expected to defeat. Not like the creatures he had intended for Onmund to swat easily. But it would be a dramatic showdown, nevertheless. He started trying to work out what Shout might be the one to drive Drelas away as a last resort.

But meanwhile, he dug in behind the door, and braced for the prolonged battle ahead. He cast his strongest ward, to shield Onmund from Drelas, and made ready to top up Onmund's magicka and health whenever he needed help.

Onmund didn't even notice. From the doorway, he simply threw every attack he knew at Drelas. Including the newly mastered Wall of Storms, that Tolfdir had taught him during the previous few weeks.

There was one brief moment when he questioned why Taslav was just hiding behind the door, and not helping him fight, but somehow he already knew that _THIS_ was his big chance to prove himself to his family. This was _HIS_ battle to fight, and he would fight it alone. _Destiny? Let's hope so, and not Disaster this time, please._

 

Taslav was indeed hiding, but not just from Drelas. He was using the door, to hide from the family, too. Meaning, the restoration and wards he was casting, were hidden from their sight by the door itself. They would not know, that he was assisting Onmund in any way.

Fortunately, his specially tailored coat had dozens of secret pockets for vials, and he had intuitively filled all of them with ultra-strength magicka restorers. The plan had always been for Onmund to do the magical fighting, and he was merely going to be the support crew, later marveling at Onmund's magnificent prowess after he had defeated the summoned monsters, to impress his family.

Encountering Drelas was the last battle he had expected to fight this particular night, but Onmund's fortuitous mention of his location had given him the instinct to prepare for it. Just in case.

Serendipity? Destiny? Perhaps both?

The tiny mention of that nugget of information, had resonated with his preparations for the trip. Taslav was not even certain of why he had prepared that way. But without that insignificant snippet, they would surely have lost already.

The archive report had made it very clear, that Drelas was NOT to be trifled with, under any circumstances. Despite his unsavory nature, while left alone, he did little harm. But invade his territory, and death was assured. Onmund's GrandPa's Legion had discovered exactly that.

Ironically, the doomed fate of that expedition, had prompted the investigation that resulted in the detailed report Taslav had dusted off and re-read, before boarding the carriage for Bleak Moor Farm. He had erred very much on the side of caution, preparing for the trip.

 

The battle raged for nearly an hour. Onmund stood firm in the doorway, blocking the incoming fire from the necromancer, and using himself as a shield to absorb the hits that got through. He was casting his own Lesser ward, but he did not even realize that Taslav had cast his own, vastly superior, Greater ward, over the top.

The two mages from the College were being careful. They watched their health, maintained their shields, and kept plenty in reserve, just in case. From the moment he had heard the distant battle, Taslav worked out where best the two mages should fight from, using the stone cottage for protection and defense. Golry had done a good job, and prepared the battleground well. After the last-gasp rescue beyond the garden, Taslav merely ran covert ops interference for Onmund as necessary. _Don't commit all your forces to the battlefield from the get-go._ That was Caution 101.

Drelas had no idea who or what he was up against. But caution was not a word in his vocabulary. He was powerful enough to crush all before him with his attack. His last decent fight had been that Legion, decades ago, but he was relishing this one already. The youngling was putting up a vaguely respectable challenge.

 

Taslav had snared Drelas hook, line, and sinker. But now that he was relentlessly attacking Onmund, with seemingly inexhaustible reserves, he began to wonder if he had been completely stupid, and not cautious at all. Maybe being too cautious was about to get them all killed, instead.

 


	12. Bravery.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golry... is he brave enough, to match the heroic last stand of his little brother?  
> Golry... is he _stupid_ enough, to match the heroic last stand of his little brother?
> 
> Some other Bold-Fingers prove that you don't have to be a hero, to be stupidly brave.

 

**Part 12: Bravery.**

 

At the very beginning, in the first minute or two, Golry fancied having a go, too. He couldn't be shown up by weak, feeble Onmund, could he? He was a reasonable shot with a bow. Not competent nor proficient, but sometimes he could hit a barn door from twenty paces.

Once the battle lines were drawn, he tentatively ventured forth to stand behind and to the side of Onmund, and fired a few arrows through the doorway. Sometimes he almost clipped his brother's head. But sometimes he hit Drelas, too. The few hits he scored did indeed physically hurt the dark mage. Golry would have proved a _very_ useful asset, had he maintained the joint assault.

 

But the arrows incensed Drelas all the more. He carefully aimed one Ice Spear, that slipped through the slimmest of gaps, brushing the edges of the magical wards and the doorframe.

Golry was loading the next arrow to his bow, but dropped both, staggering back when something hit him heavily in the shoulder. He looked down, aghast to see the two inch thick glistening shaft protruding from his chest. Moments later, the intense pain arrived, and he fell to his knees, in shock.

"I've been hit," he said calmly. Ma screamed, when she saw the bloody pointed tip protruding some two feet behind her son.

 

The old soldier in Pa bravely limped to his aid, cursing that old wound, his stiff leg hampering his agility to rescue his son.

But rescue him he did, dragging the deathly pale Golry back to safety behind the table, even as the magical spear thawed in the warmth of the cottage and his body heat.

Steel and arrows, they both knew and understood. But this was ICE that had just skewered Golry like a hybrid cross between a needle, an arrow, and an axe. And now it was melting away, opening the hole, leaving behind a vast cavernous wound that would let him bleed out in seconds. How could mere water be such an instantly fatal weapon? This magic stuff was incomprehensible. They'd best leave that to the experts.

 

The blood began gushing, as the weapon shriveled away, hastened by the warmth of the red liquid pouring through the widening abyss. Ma was in hysterical tears, but bravely scouted about to find some clean linen to wrap over the horrific wound.

It was a futile gesture, but she had to do _something_. She worked quickly, before laying him gently on the floor. Golry's clothes were already dyed a fresh crimson, and it would not be long before he died himself. Seconds, maybe a minute, if he was lucky. Ma held his head and stroked his hair, in obstinate denial that these were the last few moments of her eldest son's life.

A light-headed Golry thought Ma had put some magic painkilling salve on the wrappings. "Thanks, Ma. I feel... better... already." And then he passed out from the blood loss.

Ma wailed in anguish, believing the sudden limpness had been his last mortal moment.

Pa hugged her tightly, wanting to point out that Golry's still-moving chest meant he was still breathing, and not gone just yet. But why bother? His last breath was mere moments away, and she'd just have to relive his actual death all over again. _At least Golry would be unconscious and oblivious to the pain, for his end. Wonder if brave GrandPa was that fortunate?_   

What neither Pa nor Ma nor Golry knew, was that as soon as Ma covered the wound, Taslav aimed a carefully directed Heal Other at Golry. It staunched the bleeding, and mostly healed the fatal wound. But he had had to time it precisely in the tiny window of opportunity, waiting until his work would be neatly concealed beneath the camouflage of Ma's blood-soaked dressing, but not waiting so long as to risk Golry's death.

He _could_ have expended more magicka to heal the man fully. But the pale shock on Golry's face told him not to bother. After having his wits scared out of him, there was no spell strong enough in Taslav's knowledge, that could restore Golry's courage, to persuade him to bravely rejoin the fight.  

 

Drelas smiled with twisted lips. "One spear," he chuckled to himself. _That's all it took, to eliminate these stupid Nords, that **still** believed their metal valor was adequate to challenge him._ He'd make sure that foolish idiot with the bow was properly dead later, because for now, that impertinent youngling mage in the doorway was _still_ harassing him with his pitifully weak Lightning Bolts.

 


	13. Onslaught.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drelas gets frustrated.  
> Impatient, he intensifies his ferocious attack.

 

**Part 13: Onslaught.**

 

Drelas turned his full attention back to Onmund, frustrated to find that the novice Nord mage was proving surprisingly resilient. But he remained blissfully unaware of Taslav's hidden presence.

When it became clear that his basic Ice Spikes and Firebolts were not penetrating the defensive ward, Drelas stepped up a notch. But Thunderbolts and Icy Spears likewise seemed ineffective, doing minimal damage. The lesser spells were easy to sustain, but the bigger weapons were draining, and slowly but surely his reserves of magicka and health began to dwindle. He didn't really notice the levels dropping. He was too single-minded for that.

He had conquered entire legions of meddling soldiers before. He had always won every fight, long before his own life was threatened. There seemed no need to worry about not being victorious against this one irritating mage.

In fact, this single youngling of a Nord should be no trouble at all. Nords did not even like magic in the first place, and Drelas was somewhat puzzled as to just how this mere apprentice was surprisingly more adept at this craft than expected. His attacks were pathetically weak, yes, but his defense seemed... impenetrable. The challenge was proving frustratingly... impossible.

 

Drawing on his necromancy to restore himself, Drelas began building up for fewer strikes, but now resorting to the most powerful attack spells he knew.

The Fire Storm seemed to do some decent damage, at last. Still not as much as it should, but it did have visible impact. Clearly the greenhorn was being hurt, flinching with each strike. But he seemed to take all of the damage in his stride, absorbing it and healing rapidly, before Drelas could grind him down. All while he just kept on throwing his puny Lightning Bolts and slightly more wearisome Wall of Storms.

It was like being hit with a feather. Onmund's attacks did negligible damage in any one hit, but over time, even the tiniest leak will eventually drain the biggest reservoir.

The attacks were more of a dribbling trickle gnawing gradually at his health, than big chunks of damaging strikes that Drelas needed to be concerned about. He had plenty of time to heal himself later, if the need arose. Undaunted, he had to find a way to break through that defense. That was his priority. He had _still_ not learned about caution. Total Onslaught, was his new mantra. Fire the big spells, as often as he could muster. And the Fire Storm drained significant chunks of his reserves, every time he cast it.

 

Drelas had to defeat this foe, one way or another. He had grown bored of sticking to his cabin, running out of things to experiment with. The dwindling new discoveries, had led him to begin exploring fresh pastures. The apothecary resources in Greenspring Hollow had been a wonderful find. But if word got out that he was now roaming, he could expect... interference. And he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

In time, as he grew ever stronger, he would relish such challenge, and the epic battles he would win. But for now, this youngling and any witnesses in that cottage had to be silenced, at all costs.

Drelas pursued his prey to the bitter end. It became an ultimate war of attrition. Drelas was too powerful to concede to this amateur Nord. Too proud to give up and retreat. Too conceited to consider running away to fight another day. Worst of all, too angry to think strategically, and change his attack tactics. _Kill the Nord_. Kill that man standing in the doorway, defying his supreme skills with apparent impunity. That was _all_ he could think of.

 

Fortunately for those cowering in the cottage, Caution had still not entered Drelas' vocabulary. But there was even more good fortune for the family flinching under the merciless barrage. The cottage had stone walls, and even more fortunately, a flagstone roof. The lack of organic materials in this tundra scrubland had forced the construction of a stone fortress, rather than the more usual wooden shack and thatched roof. They would already be standing in a fiery scene of desolation resembling Winterhold, completely exposed to Drelas' ruthless onslaught, if it were not so.

 

It was the pandemonium inside the house, as the Fire Storm spread some minor collateral damage ricocheting from Taslav's Greater Ward, that was doing the most harm. The family ran about shouting and screaming like headless chickens amidst the scattered fires, sometimes with their clothes smoking or even alight.

Taslav had the impossible challenge of his life, managing the situation. In the more heated moments, he even had to cast a Grand Healing, to keep everyone in the cottage alive. Golry received the most benefit, feeling almost normal again, and miraculously coming back to life. He seemed well enough to sit up from his deathbed on the floor, and take stock of the anarchy around him. The family was already sufficiently hysterical, that they did not freak out even more, when the ghost of Golry rose to his feet, to join in the chaotic bedlam.

 

Taslav barked instructions at the family, telling them to fetch water from the kitchen, douse the flames with blankets, roll on the floor, where to shelter, and most of all, to Keep Calm and Don't Panic. Sometimes they listened, but mostly the headless chickens had no head to listen with, and Taslav had to take care of everything for them. All while making sure Onmund was not left vulnerable for a single moment.

In the face of Total Onslaught, it was Caution that still reigned supreme for the Arch-Mage.

 


	14. Premonition.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taslav had a sixth sense about this sort of thing, from the moment Onmund had mentioned Drelas. 
> 
> The secret weapons he chose to prepare for the trip, were not at all in keeping with the mission parameters.

 

**Part 14: Premonition.**

 

What Drelas _still_ did not know, was that Taslav had an uncanny premonition for what might transpire that fateful night of Destiny.

Despite the simple magical demonstration planned for Onmund to prove his worth to his family, he had prepared for something completely different. He had not just mastered the restoration spells that their survival now hinged on, but he had also practiced long and hard enough to gain a couple of crucially vital perks.

Expert Restoration was a seemingly obvious choice, anticipating he might have to use that Grand Healing, even though the beasts Onmund was meant to fight would pose no danger to anyone. That perk cut the casting price in half, and proved to be a real lifesaver, in every sense of interpretation.

But it was the second perk, the far more obscure Ward Absorb, that was to be the secret weapon that proved ultimately decisive. Again, no magical attack was anticipated, and yet, somewhere, in the back of his mind, Taslav had prepared perfectly to defend against exactly such an eventuality.

Every time Drelas' big spells slammed into his Greater Ward protecting Onmund, the perk improved the ward strength by absorbing some of the incoming magicka power, diminishing the attack itself, but perhaps more importantly, also recharging Taslav's own magicka.

This was why Drelas was so surprised by the lack of effect his attack was having on Onmund. But he didn't even know Taslav was there, never mind the huge boost to Onmund's defensive shield he was raising, or the massive logistical support being supplied from behind the scenes (well, from behind the front door, at least).

Taslav could keep that ward powered all day, just from the energy that Drelas was discharging at Onmund, safely ensconced within the ward. That was why he had hidden behind the door. He could keep out of sight of everyone, while standing right next to Onmund. That Greater Ward, boosted by the perk, shielded them both from the incoming fire, and turned Drelas' own fury against him.

Without it, Taslav would not have had enough magicka to endure the battle. He would have been forced to intervene much sooner, but whatever spells or Shouts he used, would not eliminate the dark mage. At best, they might drive him off, to fight another day. But Drelas would just keep on coming back relentlessly, until his dark deed was done, and the Bold-Fingers were silenced.

 

All the family saw, when they were not running about the place screaming like headless chickens, was a heroic Onmund bravely defending the cottage against an overwhelmingly powerful attacker. An enemy that had taken out Golry with one single hit.

The cowardly Arch-Mage, on the other hand, hid behind the front door, apparently doing nothing at all to help. OK, he shouted instructions now and then, behaving like a typical manager. Sometimes his advice was sensible enough to be heeded. But really, the man was _useless_ , letting their brave little Onmund do all the hard work, and take all the flak. Was this _really_ the Dragonborn, Thane of Solitude and Falkreath, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College? He wasn't _acting_ like it _at all_.

Mostly, they were themselves far too busy looking after each other, dousing burning clothing, and treating their wounds. And doing it extremely effectively, too, for the family was barely scorched, never mind burned or charred, despite the various garments that had gone up in flames against their skin. There was little modesty left, but thankfully some of the leatherwear proved sufficiently durable to avoid stark naked humiliation. All except for Grandie, who was having the time of her life running about completely starkers, having stripped _everything_ off long ago, before it could catch alight. Oh, the horror!

The family rushed about randomly, shouting and screaming, believing they were helping each other, limiting the damage within the cottage. Which was far more important than Pa and/or the regenerated Golry trying to fight that magical foe outside. They all knew that GrandPa had lost his life that way. They all knew that magic was pure evil. And despite that, they were grudgingly grateful that Onmund had defied them, and gone away to learn how to fight this evil with evil of his own.

All could see that their survival now depended entirely on Onmund. More-or-less exactly as Taslav had intended, but, well, not quite against such a formidable opponent as Drelas. Or the hideous sight of a naked Grandie gyrating euphorically around the smoke filled room like a whirling dervish.

 

Taslav used his potions as he needed them. He had brought what seemed like a ridiculously excessive supply. Again, it was that sixth sense guiding him in his preparations. But he was beginning to fear had not brought enough. He had used more than half of them now, and the battle showed no sign of abating. If anything, it was intensifying, as Drelas gradually stepped up the ferocity of his onslaught. There were more vials in his bag upstairs, but he dare not risk breaking from the battle to retrieve them. Caution dictated he remained behind the door, to stop things getting out of hand, both with Onmund, and the frenzied family.

 

But, little bit by tiny little bit, Drelas was draining his resources too. Every time he recharged, he was fractionally weaker than before. His health had dwindled low enough, that now he had to consider whether to heal himself, repairing the cumulative damage of all those trivial hits he was taking, or throw everything he had at the precocious brat still exasperating him with these feeble, yet eroding, attacks.

 

Onmund kept blasting away with one single-minded intent - to destroy the creature that had killed his GrandPa. The adrenalin was as good as magicka, it seemed, because he felt like he had inexhaustible reserves. He could shoot the Lightning Bolt and score a direct hit whenever Drelas emerged from cover to cast a spell. And he put that new Wall of Storms to great use too, to hassle and irritate Drelas when he was trying to recuperate under cover behind a rock. His protection ward was working marvelously, too, because the trivial damage he was taking, was healing itself without him having to take care of it at all.

 

But it was that eerie premonition, that led Taslav to prepare for the trip in the strangest of ways, that decided which path Destiny would choose.

 


	15. Serendipity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting hot in the kitchen (and the rest of the house). Can the family take the heat, or should they get out?
> 
> Taslav is finding the heat of the moment to be one impossible challenge too far.
> 
> But maybe someone is about to get supremely lucky...

 

**Part 15: Serendipity.**

 

The battle raged for a whole hour. To the terrified family inside, it felt like days. To brave Onmund, time had all but stopped. It felt like barely a few minutes. His attention was on one dark Dunmer mage, and nothing else.

Taslav felt the strain, managing the various spellcasting and healing and potion drinking, while trying to restrain the family from diving out of the windows and ruining the slim chance they had of enduring the brutal assault. He could keep them all safe, as long as they all stayed inside the stone house. As long as the potions lasted, at least...

 

Anyone departing through a window, would have distracted Drelas from his own single-minded intent, and given him cause to rethink. Perhaps it was more down to good fortune than planning, that the panicking family did not think clearly enough to seek escape through alternative exits. They all remained in the illogical safety of the building, despite most of the flammable objects either being in flames, smouldering and about to catch alight, or already reduced to ashes.

The stone floor was another lifesaver, although the timbers supporting the upstairs floorboards were of some concern. But they too were old, hardened, and well used to the heat and smoke and flames from the hearth and kitchen stove. They needed something a lot more intense to ignite them. Particularly with Taslav regularly cooling them down with a hidden Blizzard or two in the upstairs rooms. Any residual water that dripped down after quenching the heat above, assisted the family to take the heat down below.

But now, Taslav was down to his last few vials. He was preparing to join Onmund for an all out combined assault to drive Drelas away, hopefully long enough for some respite and rethinking. He'd probably also need a shout or two to perhaps save (but probably not win) the day.

 

But then came the serendipity strike that changed _everything_.

Serendipity - that unplanned, unlikely coincidence of fortuitous happenstances that come together to deliver an unexpected, surprisingly beneficial, perhaps perfect, result.

 

Drelas had paused his attack for longer than usual. He was building up for his biggest ever strike yet - a dual-wield Firestorm - that should incinerate that infuriating Nord where he stood. But it would take every last drop of magicka he could muster, and leave him... slightly vulnerable.

He was low on health, but he knew he had plenty enough to survive the puny Lightning Bolt that his opponent could discharge. And besides, the ground around him had been so transformed by the damage, that the most recent Wall of Storms had missed his hiding spot completely, and was doing him no harm at all.

Drelas was gambling with his life, but it was a calculated risk he was prepared to take, as it seemed certain to take the life of his rival instead. So he went all-in, and placed his high-stake bet on this one ultimate colossal strike.

 

Taslav had likewise been too preoccupied with multitasking, to realize that Onmund's relentless offensive had whittled away most of Drelas' health, and that if he DID now join in the attack with his most powerful spells, their combined assault could indeed finish the dark mage off. But how _could_ he know, that Drelas was driven more by reckless attack, than by cautiously maintaining his own health to resist such force? Tolfdir's first words had resonated with him, and he had never doubted their wisdom. Caution first. It must temper the desire to press home any decisive gambit.

Taslav's own cautious choice had been to defend, protect, preserve, and repair, letting Onmund do the fighting, chipping away in a dramatic long game, rather than going for the glamorous big hit instant win. But as he ran out of vials, he was running out of options.

Overloaded by distractions, he was trying to do the sums, of how to expend those last few vials to maximum effect, to successfully drive Drelas away, without risking their death. The problem was, once those last vials were gone, and his Shouts expended, their chances of surviving the offensive at all, decreased to nil. He was reluctant to join the attack, because that would leave them far too vulnerable. If it failed, all would be instantly lost. But once out of vials, all would be lost anyway.

The decision of when and how much to intervene was an impossible challenge too far, for a spur of the moment calculation in the heat of battle. Instead, Taslav decided that perhaps he did not relish impossible challenges quite as much as he used to.

 

During in the lull, both he and Onmund sensed something bigger than ever was coming. He renewed the Greater Ward, topped up Onmund's health and magicka, and drank another vial to restore himself. He felt the end might be nigh. If Drelas had yet more ammunition to throw at them than ever before, then this war might well be over already. He kept his fears to himself.

The family paused for breath too, calming down and beginning to properly extinguish the various burning objects illuminating the room. And noticing the disturbingly nude Grandie, now crawling about the floor amidst the charred debris, looking for the missing teeth that had made their own bid for freedom during all the action.

 

But Onmund had been... learning. Training and practicing at the college is one thing. A ferocious non-stop hour-long battle against an expert dark mage is quite another. He had already taught himself how to increase his own ward of protection to the next level. Drelas' attacks had barely been scratching him lately, and he was feeling no ill-health from them at all. But there was more...  

Onmund had also discovered how to dual-wield the Lightning Bolt. That revelation had come mere moments ago, and he wasn't even sure he could pull it off, so he hadn't tried it yet. It would drain him so much more, he was reluctant to test this new weapon. But in the lull, he knew he would have to deploy it. Drelas was about to launch something big, something _really_ big, and he'd need to throw all he could at the necromancer, to perhaps put him off his casting. If he got lucky.

He cleared his mind, and focused. He threw up a new Wall of Storms, but the mud had dried out and shriveled where Drelas was hiding. The Wall struck too far back, well behind his nemesis, and didn't inflict any damage at all. Onmund cursed silently. _Disaster again._ The advantage was already with Drelas.

Drelas stepped out to deliver his coup-de-grace, but the dual Firestorm took significantly longer to summon than the single. He was exposed for longer than he had anticipated.

 

All of these miscalculations came together as one. Some would call it a fluke. Others would say guided by the Divines. Or perhaps the Daedra.  
Regardless of the preference: Serendipity.  
_More_ than that - it was a serendipity that changed the course of Destiny. Like, _Totally_.

 


	16. Destiny.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlucky for me, this used to be a (serendipitous) Chapter 13 - unlucky for some.
> 
> It remains unlucky for one of the combatants, for sure.
> 
>  
> 
> _Destiny strikes._

 

**Part 16: Destiny.**

 

Onmund fired his dual Lightning Bolt while Drelas was still summoning his massive spell.

The double whammy hit Drelas harder than expected, but the shock did not distract him from completing his cast. The hit took nearly half of his remaining health, yet he had no time to feel fear. But as he finished the spell and the twin Firestorms departed perfectly on target, he realized in horror that the Nord had time to summon another Bolt to fire at him.

He needed a little good luck right about then.

He got some of it, too.

Onmund had also expended nearly all of his magicka to fire his damaging strike, and didn't even have enough left to fire a single Bolt, never mind another dual. So _close_ , and yet so far. He did not have the means to hit Drelas again. The dark mage's calculated gamble looked like it would pay off after all.

 

But there was an invisible third player in this endgame.

Even as Onmund was casting, Taslav was already casting his own magicka replenishment on Onmund. The young mage discovered he had the power to cast again, almost immediately after he had depleted his reserves, without any thought as to where it had come from.

He didn't stop to ask how. He just took full advantage of it. Onmund fired another dual Bolt at Drelas, as the dark mage dove for the cover that would save his life.

 

The two spells of Destiny passed by in the muddy garden, each one hoping to be the mortal fate of the other.

 

The last piece of good luck fell into place (and the more skilled you are, the luckier you get), as Onmund's difficult shot at the lithely moving target hit Drelas square in the chest.

The unbalanced dark mage was knocked off his feet. He had known he had plenty of health to take the hit of one or two Bolts, hence his confident, arrogant gamble. But four? He was on his last legs. He had drained every last drop of his magicka for his ultimate strike, and had none left to heal himself with.

 

And yet, he was still alive, reaching for a potion of healing as he flew through the air. He was uncorking the stopper when he landed slap-bang in the middle of the misplaced Wall of Storms. The bottle was almost at his lips when he died.

 

Serendipity. _Destiny._ The End of Drelas, became the Making of Onmund.

He roared his success for all of Skyrim to hear.


	17. Aftermath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One winner? Or none?
> 
> Drelas might be gone, but it's not over until the last spell dissipates.

 

**Part 17: Aftermath.**

 

Meanwhile, back at the cottage, all hell had broken loose. It was the closest thing ever to mutually assured destruction. While Drelas perished outside, the war was by no means won.

The wards were powerful enough to nullify most of a single Firestorm. But the second caused fiery pandemonium.

Onmund was ablaze, standing like a phoenix amidst his burning robes, most of his health already gone, the remainder draining rapidly.

The dispersion of napalm that scattered off the ward, set fire to every combustible thing left in the room. The ceiling beams, upstairs floorboards and furniture, including the rafters, flared alight. Even the stone floor was on fire, the heat from the spell powerful enough to ignite the years of grime and polish (mostly grime, though) coating the cold stone.

 

Even Taslav was smoking hot. I mean, smoldering. I mean, from the heat and flames. The wooden door obscuring him had disintegrated, instantly reduced to ashes, fortunately absorbing much of the local spell damage, shielding him better than anyone else in the room. That was yet more serendipitous luck, for it also gave him an instant clear view of the crisis, to assess priorities.

Like Onmund, first and foremost, who had taken most of the blast, and was in extreme mortal danger. Taslav snuffed out the flames draining his health, and sent enough healing his way, to stabilize his life. Onmund was still very weak, but he was out of danger. Taslav had heard him claiming the stunning victory, and understood there was no more threat from Drelas. Onmund was already moving safely outside, and should now survive.

 

 _What next?_ Taslav multitasked, quenching the structural fires with multiple Blizzards, amidst another Grand Healing or three to keep everyone alive, and improving Onmund's health too.

But the rest of the family were extremely hard work. They had to save themselves by using the paths he cleared for them, to reach the doorway, and escape the indoor inferno. But the frantic hysteria stopped them from seeing clearly.

 

The last vial was consumed, when at last the more level-headed and battle hardened Pa, and even Golry, found the presence of mind to lead the panicking Ma and Yrsold, and even the oblivious Grandie, who was trying to clean her recently found teeth before putting them back in, towards the relatively cool safety of the muddy garden.

Taslav collapsed to the floor, exhausted and drained. He had mustered as many Blizzards as he could, after a final Grand Healing to make sure all would survive. The imminent dangers of death and collapse of the house were eliminated, as the major fires were extinguished.

He weakly suggested through the open doorway, that perhaps the family should quench the remaining little fires with some water from the well outside.

Pa and Golry jumped to it, running back and forth with buckets to quench the flames, while Ma manned the well.

But Yrsold just stood there, staring at her naked Grandie rolling gleefully about in the mud.


	18. Revelations 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is much to know, and much to learn, Onmund.

 

**Part 18: Revelations 2.**

 

Onmund was in shellshock from the dramatic battle he had apparently just won single-handedly. Drelas' last spell had been brutal, but Onmund had fought valiantly, and somehow achieved the impossible. He watched his last spell drive Drelas into the Wall. The dark mage reached his ultimate expiry date, and succumbed at long last.

He felt numb. That final exchange had finished him. He had held focus on his target while that petrifying dual Fire Storm approached, but it was a devastating spell like nothing he had ever seen before. He could feel the burning heat enveloping him. He knew he was very weak, and dying, but it was a worthy price to have paid. Because his foe was vanquished.

 _Nothing_ compared to the satisfaction of defeating Drelas, and avenging his GrandPa. That thought alone sustained him, cheating his own imminent death. His vision cleared when the flames and smoke subsided, and the destruction he had cast into the courtyard became apparent. Stunned by the desolation, he remained oblivious to Taslav's involvement in saving him from certain death (snuffing the flames, and the Heal Other spell).

He walked slowly towards the site of Drelas' Last ~~Stand~~ Fall. He kept trying to fire more Bolts at the smoking ashes. Nothing happened, since he had no magicka left. His empty gestures didn't even raise a trivial spark. Onmund lowered his hands at last, when he neared the spot where his enemy had disintegrated, just moments ago.

 

He had proven himself to his family at last. That thought alone made him feel _much_ better. (Nothing to do with Taslav's latest Grand Healing spell, of course...)

The Wall of Storms faded away, and there was nothing left but scorched earth from the epic battle. Even the usual mud had dried and cracked, caked and baked in the searing heat. There was not even a familiar squelch under his feet, to bring him back down to Skyrim.

 

That fight had been like nothing he had ever imagined. Before the College, he thought magic was like a single shot ka-pow, that took out the adversary in a quick, lethal blow. Much like a proper hit from a heavy duty warhammer, like his GrandPa would have done, had he ever got close enough to strike Drelas.

As it was, Onmund still believed that mere minutes had passed - but that was still an eternity for a magical battle, compared to the duration of combat he was used to.

Wise Tolfdir was right - _there is much to know, and much to learn._

 _\- It takes years, if not decades, of practice and study_ _to master_.  
Drelas had been practicing and studying for decades, perhaps centuries.

 _\- But magic is volatile and dangerous._  
Drelas was into dark magic, at that. Necromancy, frowned upon by the college for being TOO dangerous.

 _\- Eagerness must be tempered with caution, or else disaster is inevitable._  
Drelas had met his inevitable disaster at Onmund's very own cautious hands. He had not paid enough heed to his own health, unlike the careful Onmund, now gently patting himself on the back for his wisdom. Despite his single-minded attack, he had still kept a watchful eye on his mortality. His fear of Drelas' power, taught him the value of caution. And the lethal risk Drelas had taken in his eagerness to finish off Onmund, completed the lesson emphatically.

 

But as his mind began thinking things through, Onmund started working things out. Understanding Tolfdir's words of wisdom was just the beginning of the avalanche.

Taslav had understood Tolfdir immediately. Hence his astonishing success under Saarthal, dealing with the Eye of Magnus, and rapid rise to the top as the new Arch-Mage. _But that meant..._

Onmund felt a deep pang of disappointment, as the truth dawned from the implicit clues. Those were heavy duty Fireballs and Firestorms Drelas was casting at him. His own Lesser Ward could never have shielded him adequately. Taslav must have been casting his own vastly superior ward from behind the door to boost Onmund's protection.

Even more deflating, it became clear that his inexhaustible reserves of health and magicka during the battle were not of his own making, but a cautious, conservative Taslav supplying him with the resources he needed to win the war of attrition. Including that split-second replenishment timing that provided the priceless opportunity to deliver the strike of Destiny.

Onmund felt somewhat used, like a puppet, while Taslav pulled his strings. And yet, _not_.

All of his choices, including the moment he halted in the doorway, had been his own. Taslav had only provided whatever Onmund needed, not told him what to do.

 

It had been a hard lesson to learn. But the wisdom of Tolfdir's words were now clear to Onmund, at last. Taslav had shown him, rather than explained to him, what Tolfdir had meant.

There would be awkward moments later, when this mammoth in the room made its presence felt. It would need to be discussed. Someday. But for now, Onmund accepted his partner's unconditional loving intentions readily enough. _He helped me when I most needed it. Again. Like always.  
_

Because, Drelas had never learned that lesson of tempering eagerness with caution. He had no-one to teach him, at all. And now, despite his superior skills, Drelas was no more.

 

But then Taslav's own words came echoing back with a deafening reverberation: _There's nothing like a practical demonstration, to get the message across._

That was a very bitter pill indeed, for Onmund to swallow. Taslav had not only understood Tolfdir with ease, but understood that Onmund needed to learn the lesson in a different way, too.

It was supremely humiliating. And yet, _not_.

Because Taslav had discretely hidden all of it. No-one else knew about the help and support he had received. His family was none the wiser. Not even Drelas had sussed it.

Any personal disgrace was erased with subtle whitewash. Onmund admired Taslav all the more, for how he had managed to achieve all that, in the midst of such an epic battle.

Onmund knew he would be given all of the plaudits for defeating Drelas. He knew Taslav would refuse to take any credit for it.

The intention had been to impress the family with a little magic show, but this tremendous victory would scribe the name of Onmund Bold-Finger into the history books, and the Songs of Bards. Taslav had gifted that to him. Because, Taslav _already_ had more than enough Destiny under his own belt.

Onmund's final lesson of the day, was to understand how his companion could be _all_ of the fabled Dragonborn, Thane of Solitude and Falkreath, Harbinger of the Companions, and youngest ever Archmage of the College of Magic. Oh, and Husband of Onmund, by the way. Because it was a destiny he had been born into. It could be no other way.

 

Onmund had been fortunate, perhaps destined, to have had mighty Taslav helping him with the duel. And then more of Taslav's words came booming back, bringing Onmund to his knees in floods of tears: _I'll be by your side all the way, I promise._

In that instant, their fractured relationship was reborn. The marriage fully restored, rekindled, reinforced, sealed with a loving kiss, and forevermore bonded with an unbreakable faith. Even Grandie stood no chance of getting between them.

 

All was quiet, now that Drelas was defeated and gone. The faint crackles and sizzles as his now-functional-family sloshed their buckets of water onto the last little fires, seemed like the gentle hiss of a kettle boiling upon a stove. Surreal, yet real enough, to bring Onmund in for a gentle landing back in the real world.

He turned away, to see what was left of his heritage, and find his wonderful husband.

 

He found Taslav sprawled against the wall, next to the doorway, forgotten and ignored by his family. He was done in, drained and exhausted, and more than a fair bit damaged himself. He had barely been able to pat out the smoldering little fires scattered about his ruined coat.

Onmund knelt down, tentatively lifting the wincing face with a gentle hand under that chiseled chin, to look into those awesome eyes. Even now, after all they had just been through, he saw another pleading apology for his sins of earlier.

"Please, Onmund, be gentle with me. I'm not quite... feeling myself... right now," croaked a worn out Taslav.

"Must be the full moon tonight, eh?" teased Onmund, chuckling quietly. He knew all about the rumors of the Companions.

"Ouch. OK, I deserved that. I'm sorry I didn't share sooner. But you are all that matters to me in the whole world right now. You do know that, don't you?"

"I do **_now_** , yes. I love you, my love," smiled Onmund, leaning in for the most delicate of a tender kiss on the lips.

 

" _YOU GO, GIRL!_ " shouted an excited Grandie, catching him in the act, as she staggered back indoors from her mud-wrestling match. "Now go get a room already, and get yourself some _real_ action!"

Only when the intimate moment froze, did Onmund pull back, to find Taslav blushing a brighter red than any of the glowing embers. But then, Onmund hadn't just had an eyeful of Grandie's rude and nude exhibition.

Taslav stared in wide-eyed horror at the gruesome sight a few feet away. Because _nothing_ could compare to the terrifying scene of a naked, mud-covered, fist-pumping, pelvic-thrusting Grandie, vividly demonstrating just what action she had in mind...


	19. Root of all Evil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is the root of all evil. And yet, _not_.
> 
> Debate and discuss.
> 
> While trying to persuade the Bold-Fingers, if you dare.

 

**Part 19: Root of all Evil.**

 

"I haven't got a stitch to wear," publicized Grandie coyly, still eyeing up the weak and vulnerable Taslav stranded on the floor. She wondered if he'd have the strength for it, if she jumped him right now.

Taslav just wanted to rest in Onmund's arms a while longer, but that 'look' prompted an overwhelming desire to stymie Grandie's intentions. Down here on the floor, he felt weak and vulnerable. Standing up, he'd feel even more weak, but a little less vulnerable.

"Please give me a hand," he coughed, as he began struggling to stand up. Onmund willingly obliged.

Taslav leaned heavily against the wall, still feeling too weak to stand without support, but equally feeling much safer. He could edge away now, if he had to. But of critical importance, was replenishing their magicka ASAP.

"I packed some extra potions in my bag, Onmund. Would you please be a dear, and fetch them from upstairs for me?" requested Taslav quietly. "We're going to need them, to show your family just how beneficial magic can be."

 

Onmund surveyed the wreckage strewn about the room. Everything was singed, smoking, burnt, in ashes on the floor, or blackened. Even the dented helmet was invisible, the sooty camouflage blending in with the rest of the smoke-damaged wall. _What magical benefit can come of this?_ , he worried.

But he heeded the hushed request anyway. _Taslav always knows what to do._ He tippy-toed carefully, feeling and testing his way up the charred remnants of the stairs that creaked and cracked, threatening collapse under his weight at any moment.

Upstairs was not in much better state than down below. If it wasn't burnt, then it was soaking wet and water damaged instead. Onmund guessed Taslav had been extremely busy casting blizzards to keep the wooden structure intact, and stop the whole place collapsing in on them. He shook his head in even greater admiration for the Dragonborn's supreme skills.

The house was in near-darkness, with the last of the little fires extinguished. Only the faint moonlight provided any light in the foggy haze.

It dribbled through the little windows. Curtainless. Frames burnt away. Most glass shattered by the heat, and any surviving shards, covered in soot.

It spilled in through the empty hole of a doorway, spotlighting the erotic gyration of the lap-dancing Grandie.

Her svelte sashaying was a mere dark silhouette to the rest of the family. Apparently she was performing some sort of ritualistic sacrifice of Taslav propped up against the wall next to her.

The atmospheric gloom was oppressive. Literally and figuratively.

 

Taslav fished around in the small leather pouch on his belt, fumbling for an enchanted ring. He slipped it on, and the mysterious glowing ball of a Candlelight Spell began orbiting brightly above his head. _What a great idea_ , he fondly recalled, _to have enchanted a ring with this useful spell_. Just wear it, to use it like a torch as and when needed, and it didn't use any magicka to power it indefinitely. Right now, it lit up the room, glowing like a divine visitation. ++  
++ see end notes

 

The Bold-Fingers were far less impressed to see yet more unwelcome magic invading their territory. Most took a fearful step back at this latest unfamiliar intrusion, although Grandie glided a bold step forwards.

The family meandered around in shock and awe, taking stock of the illuminated remnants of their former home. Only the shell was intact. Walls were black with soot, timber beams charred and still smoking. Anything they touched, crumbled into dust and ashes. The furniture was gone. Heirlooms destroyed. Fabric incinerated. Smoke damage everywhere. There was grumbling galore, when the reality sank in.

 

"Magic is the root of all evil," growled Pa. "It has destroyed our home."

"So, that's it then," lamented Ma. "All those years, building this place. Burnt to a crisp."

There was little clothing to be seen anywhere, beyond the odd piece of toughened leather that had survived, if now brittle and cracked, and potentially risking severe wardrobe malfunctions of embarrassing proportions, if anyone moved too athletically.

The house might have survived, but their home and lives were most definitely reduced to cinders.

Pa shook his head and shrugged, words failing him. But his fists clenched in frustrated anger.

"Well, it looks like we're homeless now," declared Grandie, still shaking her naked booty at Taslav. "There's nothing left but our bodies."

"Where are we going to sleep tonight?" wailed Yrsold, clinging to Ma like a limpet.

"No way any of us can spend the night here now. I am sorry, Mr. Arch-Mage. It appears we cannot afford you the hospitality I offered earlier." Ma seemed conflicted - genuinely sorry about that, while also being angry with Taslav for the destruction his magic had brought upon them. In the back of her mind, she was trying to work out how to 'demand reparations' like ownership of Lakeview or Proudspire - or maybe both - in compensation for their losses.

Pa was incensed. "Curse you and your evil powers, Mr Arch-Mage. You have destroyed our lives."

 

You could have cut the tension with a chimney brush, in the smoky room. Taslav knew he had to tread very carefully now. Onmund's fears were insightful: the wrong word would indeed damage the rift, perhaps forever. This was critical to get right, and yet, with Grandie advancing ever closer, he wasn't quite getting the opportunity to concentrate like he needed to. The delay was damning, but also provided salvation.

 

"Sorry, Pa, but I think you are wrong." Golry surprised everyone with his contrary opinion, openly rebelling against his Pa for the first time in his life. "Yes, our home is gone, but we're alive, aren't we? We can rebuild the home easily enough. But there is no denying, Onmund was able to do what GrandPa and his legion could not."

The Bold-Fingers raised quizzical eyebrows, all turning to ask Golry the same astounded questions. _How DARE you? What? HOW? **WHO?**_

"Oh, come on, everyone! Don't look at me like that. Surely you all know that was Drelas out there? That dark magic Dunmer that killed GrandPa?"

" ** _NO_** ," came the unanimous chorus of astonishment.

Taslav sighed in grateful thanks. _Bless you, Golry. Coming from you, that makes the next step ten times easier than if Onmund or I had said it. I'll pay you back someday, I promise._

 

"I suppose it all makes sense now," scowled a bitter Pa. "GrandPa stood no chance, against that sort of evil. How can any honorable Nord warrior fight against such mysterious forces?"

 

" _Ahem_. Pardon me, but if I might just clarify a few things...?" interrupted Taslav with polite yet assertive command. He wasted no time getting to the point.

"Most importantly, magic itself is not evil. It is just another tool. Just another weapon, that can be wielded any way the user likes. It is the person using it, that makes it evil. Or **_GOOD_** ," he added emphatically, showing his hand early.

"Nonsense," scoffed Pa. "How can anything good, come from meddling with such devastating power?" He waved a hand at the remnants of his home, to prove his point.

 

Taslav knew how to get the message across to this family. He had learned it from Onmund. _Nothing like a good demonstration, to get the message across._ But until Onmund returned with the vials, he was limited to verbal demonstrations.

"Consider an axe. Is it evil? It can chop down a tree, or it can cleave a man in half. Both damaging, but one provides useful timber, while the other kills. The wood can be used for building, and for burning. For cooking food, and heating fireplaces. Vital for survival. And yet, that axe can also take life in an instant. It has the potential to be used for evil purpose, but is the tool itself inherently evil? Or is that determined by the person using it?"

"Well, errr...." Pa had _already_ lost the argument. Taslav gave him no chance to regroup.

"How about a knife? Slice up some leather into useful lacing, or reins. Carve up the meat for eating. Or plunge it into someone's back... Is the knife evil, or is it the way it is used? You would not decide whether someone wielding a blade is a craftsman, or an assassin, until you see how they use it."

"I see your point, but magic is different. There's nothing to see, no way to defend against it, until after it harms you." Pa was still fighting the lost cause, but he wasn't going down easily.

"You can't see the wind either, and yet it can propel a ship, or a windmill. Is the wind evil? Too much wind, and too much sail, can destroy the ship, yes, but that's the fault of the Captain not being careful and vigilant."

"Aha! So you admit that magic can be evil," gloated Pa, still choosing to believe what he wanted to believe, and ignoring the facts.

"No, not at all," disagreed a slightly aggravated Taslav. "I'm saying the wind is there, regardless. How much it harms us, or does us good, is all down to how skilled we are, and how aware of it we are. A novice will be shipwrecked before he can say 'Cast off'. But a good sailor will watch out for the squalls and bad weather that might threaten his boat. A good captain can make good speed, and never risk his ship. For him, the wind is an important benefit, compared with the frustration of being becalmed."

There was one last detail that Taslav felt needed to be stressed, but he was heading for treacherous waters with it.

"Magic is just an unfamiliar kind of implement, be it a useful tool, or harmful weapon. But the _power_ of that implement, is indeed one of the most powerful we know of. It is the magnitude of that power, that makes it one to fear and respect, and handle with great care."

"But then, surely we are all doomed?" insisted Pa. "Power corrupts, so what's to stop any magic user from turning into an evil Drelas? Including Onmund. Including _you_ , Taslav."    

"With great power, comes great responsibility," continued Taslav sagely. "That is exactly what the College is for."

The sales pitch lecture, was one Taslav was very familiar with. "Magic exists. We know about it. It won't go away, just because we all bury our heads in the sand, and choose to ignore it. But we can teach mages to distinguish right from wrong. Warn them of the potential evils. The college teaches those with talent the 'right' way to use magic, and some safe and simple and useful spells. It also has to show them the bad, so that they _know_ where it is hazardous to tread. There are always bad apples that slip through, but the college does try to sift out the troublemakers long before they are given the skills to wreak havoc. But the College can't stop individuals like Drelas from doing their own thing, dabbling in necromancy, and dark magic. But I repeat again, the power itself is not evil. It is the person using it, that decides whether to use it for good or evil."

 

"So, Drelas was using magic for evil, while Onmund was using it for good?" Golry's timely assist might have been born out of clarifying his own confusion, but it came at the perfect moment.

"Yes, you've nailed it perfectly, Golry. Without Onmund, there would be no more Bold-Fingers right now. This house would no longer exist. Drelas had the power to incinerate us all, destroying this house and killing everyone in it, just as he did to GrandPa's legion. But Onmund had the skills to defend against it. Because, just like any sword fight, you can use magical power in many different ways. It is not just for attack. You can also defend, parry, deflect..."

Taslav paused, gulping uncomfortably, to deflect Grandie's groping hand and probing fingers. While the debate raged, she had been stealthily inching closer. She had her own "magical" skills... and not the kind Taslav was familiar with, either.

But rather than squirm away to safety along the wall a little bit, he decided control was the better part of valor. He let her put one arm around his waist, and used her like a crutch for support. She was thrilled to have him 'wanting' her like this, but he kept a firm grasp on her free hand, to stop her roving over the bits reserved for Onmund. _Keep your friends close, and your stalkers closer_.

 

Pa was obstinate, still refusing to accept the wisdom. He was considering making a run for the blackened warhammer lying in the hearth, and eliminating the future threat posed by the Arch-Mage there and then. But the handle had burned away, and it was now as much use as an anvil. Only the huge spiky metal head remained.

Taslav saw where he was looking. But with Grandie suitably pacified and appeased, he could move in for the ~~kill~~ win.

Taslav hammered home the point, tapping directly into Pa's thoughts, with an irrefutable conclusion: "Magic is a power, than be used for good and bad. In _exactly_ the same way, that iron can be used to make useful ploughs or murderous weapons. GrandPa's magnificent warhammer was built for just one reason - to kill with one strike. What other purpose did it have?"

Pa was still staring straight at it, lying there in the hearth. And as Taslav's words punched through the shields in his mind, he saw the exceptional weapon for what it was. A tool of unparalleled merciless skull-crushing death-dealing. It had no 'good' intention whatsoever. To exhibit it with pride above the mantelpiece, was to be proud of murder. Murder was evil. _So why did he not see it that way?_

Taslav could see the gears grinding slowly through Pa's brain. He knew the debate was won, and let him work the rest out by himself.

"I see," conceded Pa, capitulating. "GrandPa's warhammer is a pure killing machine. But we don't think of it as evil, because GrandPa wasn't evil. He used it to eliminate evil-doers, and that makes it a weapon of good."

"Precisely, Pa. Just like good Onmund used his own magical powers to overcome the evil Drelas this evening."

 

An enlightened Bold Finger family saw the light at last, for what it was. That glowing orb above Taslav's head, did nothing more than cast a gentle radiance into the room, far more efficiently and with much less smoke than lighting a torch or lantern. There was nothing to fear, from this benevolent use of magic.

They relaxed a little, persuaded at last that magic was not the root of all evil, after all.

"And mages can use their warhammers at any time, for the most beneficial of tasks," added Taslav brightly.

Before he tensed a lot. Grandie was having another determined go at trying to get her hands on Taslav's _other_ warhammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use this 'Candlelight Ring' mod in my own game:  
> Mostly borrowing bits from other modders, but adding one important bit myself - the orb position, that was just... irritating... always in the way of what I wanted to look at...
> 
> The ability to enchant an item with the Candlelight spell is part of it - available on the Nexus, I think.  
> So, take any old ring, and turn it into a "torch", illuminating the scene whenever worn. The enchantment also includes an "infinite" timescale, so it never wears off, unlike casting the spell. The ring itself might even be a complete mod. I forget. But I'm sure I can craft and enchant the thing as wanted.  
> Maybe there was just a crafting recipe for such a ring, because I've never considered enchanting a pendant, or clothing, or a diadem, or earring, or...
> 
> The "Candlelight Ring" is in one of my fast equip slots, and is by far the most useful piece of hardware in my game. Makes you HIGHLY visible, though, so no sneaking while wearing it.
> 
> There are mods to change the brightness and distance of the effect, and it's easy enough to alter those numbers to suit your own preference. Nothing special there. 
> 
> My own addition, was to mod the Candlelight effect itself, to change the position of the orb, to "get out of the way" of the 3rd person view. Managed to find a way to hack the 3D geometry, applying an offset, to get the orb higher and less in front of the DB. Tends to orbit high over his head, now. So now I can play in 3rd person, seeing "enough" ahead by upping the stats of the elevated orb, and since it is now above and behind, instead of in front, it also illuminates the Dragonborn's back, reminding me the ring is in use. Otherwise, it illuminates the front, which is pointless when you're viewing the PC from behind...
> 
> Took a lot of hacking around in the geometry file, before finding a way that worked. I can pass that on, if anyone wants it (comment?), but I altered the original data, so it'll affect the original Candlelight spell too. Otherwise, you'll have to copy and duplicate the files and create a new mod, and name it as a new effect.


	20. Reconciliation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one more compelling example, that settles the magic argument once and for all.
> 
> But it reduces Onmund to tears once again, for it completes the ultimate reconciliation.

 

**Part 20: Reconciliation.**

 

Taslav continued cementing the changed minds, with further examples.

"Magic is not just a weapon. It can be used for other things, like repairing. And Healing. Remember when Onmund was choking, at the dinner table? I healed him, by touching my hand to his back, to clear his lungs and let him breathe again."

The family remembered. There was no resistance - no objection - to the truth of those words. They had all heard the ghastly gurgling simply dry up, and Onmund's easily spoken retort. Including the marriage bombshell.  

But then Ma gasped in horror, remembering the ice spear that had pierced Golry's shoulder, recalling that awful moment when she had held the head of her dead son in her hands. She hadn't thought to question it before, but how could Golry possibly be standing here now?

"But how can magic bring Golry back from the dead?" asked the panic-stricken mother. He had _died_ in her arms. The ghost standing there seemed solid enough, but was this animated corpse really her son? It had just argued against Pa, so that couldn't possibly be her Golry. _No way._

Golry remembered too. As did everyone else in the room. All except Onmund, who had been oblivious to the carnage behind him at the time, and was still upstairs, rummaging for the vials.

The color drained from Golry's face as that shocking moment of seeing that spear protruding from his chest returned to haunt him. He looked down at the bloody wrapping Ma had applied, everyone else staring at the same gory bandage.

"He didn't die, Eirif," corrected Pa quietly. "He was still breathing, just unconscious, when you thought he passed."

 _Marvellous_ , thought Taslav. _The enemies are turning into allies one by one._ This war of words was going remarkably well. First Golry had helped sway Pa. And now Pa was helping to sway Ma.

"Indeed, Pa is correct," concurred Taslav. "Golry, how does your shoulder feel right now?"

"Well, errr, it feels OK, actually." He moved his injured arm about slowly and carefully, holding his damaged shoulder with his good hand. "No pain to speak of. Ma's wrappings took that away. The size of that magical spear was a bit of a shock, though. I was certain I was a goner. I know I passed out, but when I came around, I felt alright. So good, in fact, I forgot all about the injury, until just now."

Everyone gazed at the blood-soaked wrappings covering the gory wound lurking underneath. _How could it not hurt, to have that massive hole piercing your chest?_

"Take the wrappings off," commanded Taslav.

Golry paled even whiter than before. "Are you sure?"

Taslav nodded.

"Won't that restart the bleeding?"

Taslav shook his head.

Very gingerly, Golry began to unwrap the sodden crimson linen from his shoulder, flinching and wincing, dreading the anticipated searing pain.

Ma clutched at Pa, fearing the gruesome sight about to be unveiled. Yrsold clutched at her face, covering her eyes to hide the horror. Grandie clutched at Taslav, who let the old woman have this one moment of satisfaction, instead of leaving her clutching at straws.

Onmund was still upstairs, but the muffled footsteps let Taslav know he was on his way back with the vials. He hoped Onmund would hesitate a little, before venturing onto the rickety stairs.

The last bloody layer peeled smoothly away. Collective gasps echoed around the room.

Some blood discolored the skin. An astonished Golry wiped it away with a dry piece of the wrapping. His skin was intact. No hole. No wound. No bruising. Not even a scar.

Ma's knees gave way completely, Pa having to hold her up, because this was impossible. Miraculous. _Her son was whole?_

Taslav waited a moment, to let her recover. And to let Onmund reach the perfect location.

 

Onmund reached the top of the stairs, still hidden, hesitating to plan a careful route through the perilous descent that lay ahead. But he got a clear enough listen of Taslav's gift, when he delivered the ultimate reconciliation.

"The ice spear that skewered Golry's shoulder, would have been fatal. Ma's wrapping gave the opportunity for some magical healing. The wound was closed, the bleeding stopped, and the damage undone. Golry was indeed mere moments from death, but that futile care of Ma allowed a discrete intervention. It was delayed until it could be hidden out of sight beneath the dressing, delivered at the critical moment, because Onmund knew how much you all despised his magical tools."

 **_Onmund's_ ** _magical tools?_

The whole family was stunned. Onmund had not just single-handedly defeated Drelas, but saved Golry as well? The spineless Arch-Mage hiding behind the door didn't factor into their calculations at all. Exactly as Taslav had intended.

But Onmund was shocked most of all.

He nearly fell down the damaged stairs, blinded by tears of gratitude. He did have the tools to heal Golry like that, but only with hands-on touch. But, he wasn't even aware his brother had been fatally wounded. Taslav had discretely dealt with all that from behind the door.

 

It was the report card all over again. Taslav hadn't technically lied in the slightest about any of it, but the deliberate deception was blatantly obvious. This time, to make the family believe that Onmund had saved and healed his brother, all while he was fighting Drelas, and defending the house.

He took a deep, shivering breath, to steady his nerves and quell the tears. He braced himself, and descended the disintegrating staircase with as much stately poise as a King might enter his royal court. The slips and stumbles as the damaged timbers gave way beneath his Royal Onmundness were a little unbecoming. As were his damp, streaming cheeks.

"There's a lot of smoke up there," he excused, wiping his eyes, while gazing in deep admiration at his generous husband. He didn't even see the admiration gazing back at him from his family, until Taslav led his eyes to their worship, by deliberately looking away to them, one by one.

Even Grandie was not quite praising Taslav's private parts with as much gusto as before.


	21. Rebuilding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Taslav's benevolence, Onmund's confidence is boosted like never before. And there are more unexpected gifts to come. 
> 
> Reconciliation is completed, without another word being spoken about it.
> 
>  
> 
> (PS - I'm not entirely certain this chapter flows as smoothly as I'd like, because it's been... challenging. And hectic. Feels like Grandie's prowling around nearby.  
> Comments for adjustments, faults, corrections, etc, are welcome. Apart from my poetic license with Taslav's exceptional restoration skills...)

 

**Part 21: Rebuilding.**

 

Onmund handed the vials to Taslav silently, mouthing a discrete _thank you_.

"Thank _you_ , Onmund. These will complete our mission nicely."

Taslav gulped a vial, and gave one to Onmund to do the same, before dividing up the remainder between them. The two mages were back to full power, and ready to continue the lesson about the nature of magic.

 

Meanwhile, Ma was examining Golry's unharmed shoulder. Yrsold was getting a little emotional, seeing the sorry state of her tattered dress. Pa was still trying to get used to the whole 'magic not being pure evil' issue, by checking out the charred condition of GrandPa's warhammer. Grandie was content with petting her new pet.

It was Yrsold bursting into tears, that brought the family back together on the problem of the moment. "We've got nowhere to live," she wailed.

"Not necessarily," corrected Taslav. "If you would allow a practical demonstration, of just how much _good_ magic can do... Onmund? The table, if you please?"

Onmund had never tried this sort of restoration magic. And Taslav was throwing him in at the deep end. _The table? Why not something small and simple, like a broomstick? Or better yet, a toothpick?_

Onmund had no clue what was going on. Then he caught the twinkle in Taslav's eye. _I'll be by your side all the way, I promise_ , he had smiled. "Take your time, and be careful. Caution, remember. Make sure you get it right." The lesson was not over yet. Onmund was to earnestly try, perhaps "pretend", while Taslav would make sure.

So he followed Taslav's cue, standing in front of him, facing away, while the Arch-Mage placed both hands on his shoulders.

Grandie was free to rampage around his body, but Taslav took the hit for the team. It was time for the practical demonstration, to get the full message across.

"And... begin..." instructed the Arch-Mage.

 

Onmund waved his hands about, and uttered some arbitrary but impressive-sounding words. Some lovely special effects zapped forth. Even Grandie relented her pursuit of her ultimate prize, distracted by the dramatic display.

All around the room, debris began to stir. Charred timbers here, some embers over there. Damp ashes, soot, and splinters, floated off the floor, walls, and ceiling. Some even drifted in through the open doorway from outside. And where they congregated in a sparkling maelstrom, the swirling cloud of residue began to undo itself back into an original whole.

When the spell was completed, the same dining table stood where it had been earlier that day. As far as the family could tell, it was none the worse for wear than before the battle had started. Not pristine nor unblemished by any means - it was restored, complete with chips, dents, watermarks, ringstains and various sauce spillages, just to prove this was the very same table as before, and not some replica.

The Bold-Fingers all marveled. Including Onmund, for he had _no idea_ Taslav was that capable at restoration. He marveled all the more, for once again he had made it seem as though Onmund had performed this latest feat, and not just been a channel for Taslav's spell.

 

"Shall we continue?" enquired Taslav. "Onmund and I can restore the whole house exactly as it was, if you like. Or, if you prefer, we can also do _this_." Taslav whipped a finger at the table, instantly clearing it of the years of accumulated wear and tear, restoring it perfectly to as-new condition.

"Magic can do _that?_ " admired Golry. He was even beginning to wonder if he should try to join Onmund at the College...

"Oh, yes," asserted Taslav emphatically. "That, and so much more, if used by the right people with the right hands. It is the intent of the person using it, that decides whether magic is used for good or evil. But I can assure you that Onmund and I, and the College, are most definitely not on the side of evil."

Onmund was truly talented, and special. And, most importantly, _good_. There was a general murmur of awed acceptance from the Bold-Fingers.

All except for Grandie, who preferred to whisper her deviant requests into Taslav's ear, making him cringe in blushing discomfort with the sort of alterations to her garments the old woman requested, giving him plenty of reason to wonder just how wickedly _bad_ the old woman could be.


	22. Rescues.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the house of Bold-Finger has been put back together, the College mages put the Bold-Finger house back together. 
> 
> The home is rescued, as the bits within are salvaged and restored. 
> 
> Onmund has to make one particularly timely rescue, however.

 

**Part 22: Rescues.**

 

By channeling the spell through Onmund, Taslav had taught Onmund how to perform the same spell. They could now work independently, consuming vials of magicka as they needed, repairing and restoring the home within the house.

 

Taslav discretely handled the bigger challenges, like rescuing the door from the pile of ashes it had disintegrated into. Onmund started small, with Ma's chair. The soot and ash and cinders and charred lumps recombined, leaping off walls and floor and ceiling. Slowly but surely, the walls began to clear and clean, as the various contents of the home regained original form.

The staircase was a particularly major challenge, and Taslav took care of that next. But he was only half done, when a particularly intimate squeeze from a groping Grandie put him off completely. The break in concentration resulted in the staircase gaining some unexpectedly ornamental and phallic features, like some of the treads standing vertically on end, rather than flat and level.

 _Enough is enough_ , thought Taslav, and discretely cast a protective ward that kept the old woman a safe three feet away from touching his body. Then he fixed the stairs, before anyone noticed their current erotic symbolism.

He then disappeared upstairs, to deal with the serious water damage done by the blizzards, that would be beyond Onmund's skills, and hopefully beyond the reach of Grandie's stair-climbing abilities.

 

Onmund had plenty to do downstairs, and an enthralled Bold-Finger audience watched him work. First, he restored the rest of the chairs and benches. Dressers and side tables and cabinets came next. It was easier to work with the bigger chunks of burnt wood, that he could identify the origins of. He could then picture the object, and it would rebuild itself automatically.

Window frames and windows were similarly easy enough, and with each success, his skill rapidly improved.

He restored the warhammer, and put all of the adornments back on the hearth wall. That big dent in the helmet still gleamed a little too brightly for his liking, as the soot cleared from the surfaces. But his family didn't seem to care. They were looking at him, not the decor.

They followed him into the kitchen, spellbound by his skills. Shattered crockery in the kitchen was reintegrated, broken bottles fused and sealed, and the stove repaired and relit. There was a little disquiet when those flames ignited, but everyone realized quickly enough that this was a controlled spell of intended ignition, and not one of Drelas' dreaded fireballs.

Then he had a go at repairing the tattered remnants of Yrsold's dress. And since Taslav had left a teaching, knowledge-transferring hand on Onmund's shoulder when he fully restored the table, Onmund was able to give that rescued dress a thorough dry-cleaning too. His little sister beamed, to be wearing a nice clean dress again.

With the "big bits" done, there was still plenty of black soot and particulates staining the walls. But the young apprentice found he could rescue the most surprising things, by starting from just one grain of soot, and gathering the rest of the constituent parts of the thing it had come from.

Quite by accident, he had reassembled a towel in the kitchen, out of nothing. Just ash and soot. Onmund surprised himself, discovering he already had the skill to rescue the finest fibers of the frailest fabrics. _Now I see why Taslav had more faith in me, than I ever did._ Onmund was still learning, teaching himself at the speed of spell casting.

He wove the thin fabric of the curtains back together. Changing their color at Ma's request required four or five attempts, not because he couldn't get it right, but because she was never quite satisfied with what she had asked for.

Grandie's entire wardrobe in her downstairs bedroom had gone up in smoke. It was hard work, but he managed to put all of her clothes back together, too. Without any of the provocative adjustment requests the old woman had whispered into Taslav's ear, of course.

Only then did he notice Grandie herself was not in the audience. _She must still be naked_ , he realized in horror, when the last of the detritus gathered into the clothes she had stripped off when the fires began.

 

Upstairs, Taslav mostly had an easier time. The fire damage was limited, so it was mostly drying things out, and cleaning up the staining of water damage. Plus a good cleaning and dusting-off while he was at it. He had just completed Onmund's filthy bedroom last of all, recognizing it from the bags on the bed, when he turned to rejoin the family downstairs.

 _Uh-oh. I'm in big trouble now_ , he thought, the cold sweat breaking out instantly.

There was Grandie, blockading the doorway. The sultry temptress sensuously caressed the doorframe like some nubile young pole dancer.

Taslav hadn't quite comprehended just how much her arthritic joints had been Grandly Healed back to full mobility, and she had chased him up the stairs with ease. Now, she had her prey cornered exactly where she wanted him, with no rescue in sight.

"How about it, big boy?" she inquired demurely. "This magic healing is marvelous stuff. Shall we try out just what _else_ has been given a youthful makeover? Shall I show you what magic _I_ am capable of?"

Taslav gulped uneasily. The ward had long since faded. The way she was stimulating the doorframe, and rubbing a pointed toe against the other side, was enough to arouse any wood, and made him extremely nervous indeed. And he had just used up the last of his magicka to clean the dirty room.

He didn't want to use his muscular strength to force the old woman out of his way. More worryingly, he felt so weak at the prospects of the torture ahead, he wasn't even sure he could _muster_ the strength to escape her intentions.

He was completely at her mercy, trapped in the bedroom, with no hope of escape. _No wonder Onmund fled the house_ , he understood. He was considering a girly scream for help, when he was rescued from such humiliation in the nick of time.

 

" _Ahem_. Excuse _me_ , Grandie," scolded Onmund's soft voice from further down the corridor, while a finger tapped her on the shoulder. "That's my husband you're trying to seduce, _if_ you don't mind. Give him a break, will you, please?"

"Oh, very well, dearie," sighed Grandie graciously. "But only because you asked so sweetly." She batted her eyelids at Taslav, adding an offer she hoped he couldn't refuse. "Just you remember, young man: My bedroom door is always wide open for you. I could show you a thing or two you'll never forget."

"You already have," whimpered a traumatized Taslav.

Then she retreated with feline stealth, caressing Onmund's cheek with a flirtatious hand as she took the gown he had brought with him to cover her modesty.

Onmund advanced to the doorway, to find Taslav wiping the glistening sweat from his brow, and sitting down on the bed to recover from the shock.

"Thank you, Onmund. I think you just rescued the Dragonborn from being scarred for life."


	23. Honors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plaudits for Onmund. In more ways than one.
> 
> More reconciliation, too. Taslav's really on a roll tonight. 
> 
>  
> 
> (PS - another bit of a rushed hack of a chapter. I wrote these bits twice, and melding the best of both might jerk awkwardly in places. Stop snickering, you at the back. Oh, it's just Grandie, again.)

 

**Part 23: Honors.**

 

Onmund was bursting with pride.

Taslav had never honored him like that before. Of all the compliments he had ever been paid, saving Taslav from Grandie seemed like the most trivial thing in the world, and yet it clearly meant the most of any to Taslav. And this time, it was easy for him to accept the kind word.

He ran into the room, intending to give Taslav an appreciative kiss. Except, this time it ended with Onmund hugging Taslav, providing the comfort and support the weary Dragonborn needed.

"Have you got the strength to face them all one last time, my love?" asked a concerned Onmund. "It would help, if we can end this evening of Destiny with a proper conclusion."

"Yes, of course I can," smiled Taslav. "Because, you'll be by my side all the way, won't you?"

Onmund helped him up, and together they made their way back downstairs to face the music. The Bold-Finger family was singing a different song now, and Onmund dearly wanted Taslav to hear the euphoria, before it faded through the night.

 

The house was pristine. The home was warm and comfortable. Torches and candles lit the house, the reflected flames dancing on the gleaming armor hanging above the hearth once again.

There were a few improvements. The front door didn't squeak anymore. The floor was cleared of the years of grime, and there was one other "special tweak" that Taslav had prepared from upstairs, when everyone had been looking elsewhere.

The house was abuzz. The Bold-Fingers had all eyes on Onmund now. Their new hero. Avenger of GrandPa, Savior of the house, rebuilder of the home, and clearly now having to help his weak and useless husband down the stairs.

Ma and Pa exchanged knowing glances. _Clever Onmund. Way better than the Arch-Mage. Taslav is lucky they are married, else our son would be usurping the Dragonborn for his job any day now._

It wasn't quite that bad. They were just caught up in the moment of adulation. Onmund had even rescued the pictures of the orphans, and left them plenty visible on the table. There were reminders enough, of where the golden gift horse truly lay. But the reconciliation was sealed beyond doubt.

Onmund had achieved the honor and recognition he had desired from his family. Taslav had made sure they had learned their lesson about the nature of Onmund, and he was part of the family again. He had also made sure they learned their lesson about the nature of magic.

 

Onmund was still helping Taslav down the last few steps, when he noticed it. How could he not?

It had stared everyone in the face for so long, it had become part of the furniture. He turned, to give Taslav a playful cuff on the shoulder, and admonish him for interfering. But as he opened his mouth to chastise, he caught the huge wink, smirking smile, and discretely shaking head, telling him to think again, and hold his tongue. _Let the family work it out for themselves..._

 

The women were busy admiring their refreshed wardrobes. Pa and Golry were admiring the heirlooms honoring their warrior heritage.

Golry spotted it next. How could he not? It had been his fault, after all...

"Hey, look! The dent in GrandPa's helmet - it's gone!" The family all turned to stare at the pristine, gleaming, dent-free helmet.

"Onmund, I know you felt stupid when I told you to wear it," continued a humbled Golry, "and even worse after the... ummm... the accident. But if you can do _that_ , then you don't even need armor anymore, do you?"

Taslav nodded approvingly. _So, it had been Golry's idea, that Onmund should wear the helmet._ Big Brother was most definitely OK. Onmund stayed silent, still wanting to admonish Taslav for meddling, so Taslav answered for him. "No, Golry, not any more, he doesn't. Onmund has learned many things at the College. How to attack is one. We'd be dead now, like GrandPa, killed by Drelas, if he hadn't been taught that. But the College also taught him how to defend. And how to heal, and how to fix things."

 

Pa sighed in ultimate defeat. "I guess greatswords and warhammers isn't the be all and end all of being a Nord then," he conceded.

"Depends on the great sword, I think," chuckled Grandie, shuffling over to give the nice gentleman another good feel up, while pretending to assist Onmund helping him down the last step.

 

Pa added: "I wish there was some sort of magical weapon we could add to the display, to properly honor Onmund's warrior talents."

"Might I provide something appropriate?" asked the Arch-Mage in a way that insisted 'no' would not be an acceptable answer.

Suddenly no longer weak or needing anyone to support him, he strode purposefully to the hearth. GrandPa's refurbished helmet remained the centerpiece of the display, despite the absence of the dent. But there was a beautiful bare stone set in the wall immediately above, that was perfect for carving the magical words.

Inspired by the many word-walls he had encountered, he made one of his own - to honor his companion forevermore, and never permit any Bold-Finger to forget Onmund, ever again.

The words mysteriously etched deeper and deeper into the stone, glowing with ever deeper intensity, as his fingers carved without touching. The family stared in awe, as the golden letters shone with just enough sparkly glitter to appeal, and not dazzle.

 _'Onmund Bold-Finger defeated Drelas, successfully defending this house against the forces of dark magic, saving all souls within these walls. Woe betide any who defile this place._ '

He scribbled a barely legible signature at the end, adding the College seal, to make it all official.

Then added an addendum, in much smaller print:  
_'For this remarkable accomplishment, he graduated from the Mages' College of Winterhold with first class honors.'_

The enchanted stone barely twinkled when the room was empty, glowing softly like a night-light. But the message glowed brighter and brighter as anyone neared it. With the dent gone, GrandPa's helmet still impressed the eye first. But any who approached to admire it, were left in no doubt about just who the true Bold-Finger hero was.

Ma was dabbing her eyes gently. Pa was proud. Golry was somewhat envious. Yrsold wondered if she could use the stone as a sparkly necklace.

 

But Taslav wasn't quite finished yet. There were more secrets lurking within this house, and these failing parents had one more lesson to learn.

"I do wish we had some mead or beer to toast this momentous occasion," hinted Taslav.

Pa replied, "Onmund put the glass bottles back together, but said the volatile vapours within were already blown too far away to be recalled. I wish we had something to toast with too, but it looks like Ma's tea is all we've got."

Taslav observed an awkward Golry from the corner of his eye. Big Brother was swallowing uncomfortably, clearly uncertain about something. _Come on now, you can do it..._ encouraged Taslav telepathically.

"Well, errrr, actually, ummm... I've got a few bottles stashed away in the barn," blushed Golry eventually. "I'll.. go and see if they survived the battle." He scampered away like a scalded cat, both keen for the drink, and embarrassed by the admission.

Ma and Pa looked at each other quizzically. _Golry? Alcohol? In the barn? What was that all about?_

 

Taslav answered their thoughts without mercy or sympathy. "It seems Onmund wasn't the only child unhappy with the way he was being pushed around." The boldly antagonistic statement struck a painfully raw nerve, and yet the honeyed charm Taslav poured all over it, made it feel more like relief after having a nasty thorn pulled out, than criticism.

They looked at Onmund, and saw the mage they had scorned for not being a fighter, driving him away to the College.

They looked at Yrsold, constantly examining herself in the mirror, and the way she was dolled up like a prize bride to be sold off to the highest bidder.

And then they looked at the open door, and realized that Golry had been driven to drink to escape their impossible demands he become a soldier. It wasn't like he couldn't hold his liquor, and he was plenty old enough for it.

But...  
Together, they saw in the same moment of revelation, how their overbearing parenthood had been making _all_ of their children utterly miserable.

 

The clinking of bottles announced Golry's return. He hung his head in shame for his admission of guilt, as he handed them over for Pa to pour the drinks. But instead of reprimand for his wayward behavior, he got unexpected, albeit silent, apologies instead.

Ma gave him a hug, and a motherly kiss. Then Pa shook his hand, and slapped his back, while Ma handed out the glasses for the toast.

Onmund just grimaced and nodded knowingly at his brother, having felt that pain himself.

But there was something in the exultant look Taslav was giving him, that made him feel like the cunning Dragonborn had somehow known about his dirty little secret all along...

 

"Let us not forget to Honor the past, as we look to the future," toasted Taslav, raising his glass to the words glowing vibrantly from the stone above the hearth.

The nightcap slipped down with silky smoothness.

 

"We have a home again," stated Pa.

"And a new son-in-law, and grandkids" gushed Ma.

"My dress looks beautiful," simpered Yrsold.

"I'm still alive," appreciated Golry.

 

"I have a new lease of life, too," reveled Grandie. She had sidled over to Taslav once more, and whispered a little too loudly, for everyone to hear, "Drop by my bedroom later and let me show you my revitalized libido."

"Hey, what about me?" retorted a somewhat excluded Onmund, annoyed that Grandie had already forsaken her earlier promise to leave Taslav alone.

Grandie was about to suggest a threesome, but Ma misunderstood his complaint entirely, and got in first. She rushed over to give her son a big hug and wet sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Silly boy. Onmund, you are the warrior Bold-Finger that avenged GrandPa." _And snared the biggest catch of a husband I could ever have dreamed of..._ she wanted to add.

 

Taslav was jovial, with Mission (almost) fully Accomplished. There was one last task remaining, but it was not the right time for it. He was exhausted, and decided he needed to rest first. It would merely be the cherry on top, and there was plenty of time tomorrow morning to deal with it.

"Well, I'm dead beat after all that. Bed time for me, I'm afraid," said Taslav. But it was the lewd noises from Grandie at the mention of 'bed' that brought him fearfully back into the present. _Yes, definitely going to lock the bedroom door tonight,_ he thought, as Onmund accompanied him up the stairs.


	24. Discretion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not tonight dear, I've got a ~~fireball~~ ~~furball~~ family.
> 
> It's hard to be discrete in that house, but there is one way...

 

**Part 24: Discretion.**

 

Taslav collapsed onto the bed, while Onmund closed (and locked) the door behind them.

It was a tight squeeze, the two of them snuggling onto the single bed, but Onmund wriggled back against Taslav, wrapping himself in one big muscly arm around his own chest, and holding it tightly against his heart, which skipped a beat.

 _So much to say, so much excitement_...

Onmund was keen for some of Grandie's 'action', but there was one other matter to clear up first.

"So, my love. Harbinger of the Companions, eh? Those nights when you didn't want to do it... was that a were-night, or a furball, or something?"

Taslav chuckled. "No, never. It's just that sometimes, y'know, I'm not up for it, is all. It's a tough job, being me, and sometimes a nice cuddle is all the performance I can muster."

"I'm a little worried about some of the previous... biting... during our more passionate moments. But you've always been in human form. Do I need to worry?" Onmund held his breath. This was a make or break moment. All of the trust he had put back into Taslav, could be shattered again by the answer to that question. Taslav didn't let him down this time.

"No, Onmund, nothing to worry about. To be honest, I never mentioned it, because I was cured of Lycanthropy, before we ever met. Many of the other Companions are cured too, although I'm sure the rumors will always persist. They still insist I'm harbinger, but my membership is more honorary than managerial now. I've moved on from being part of that team. Of course, I'd always go to their aid if they call for my help, but there just isn't enough room in my heart for them anymore. Not since you came along to fill it." He finished with a big yawn.

Taslav was sounding a little drowsy, his speech slurring slightly, when he added: "Priorities change, y'know?"

Onmund snuggled a little tighter, trying to get maximum contact with that warm, furry body behind him, instantly accepting the truth, and that he was not presently being cuddled by a shaggy werewolf.

 

"So, how about it then, my love?" he asked breathlessly.

"How about what?" mumbled a tired Taslav.

"Some of Grandie's action?" whispered an excited Onmund.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" replied Taslav. "These thin walls have ears, y'know."

"Don't be silly," scoffed Onmund. "Everyone else is in bed already. It was too exhausting a day, for anyone to still be up and about."

"Really? You think so? Let me demonstrate..." Taslav smooched the biggest, wettest, sloppiest, smacker of a kiss on the back of his free hand.

There was a giggle from the wall, where Yrsold's room adjoined. A titter, at the door, that sounded like Ma, before a gruff "ssshhhh" from Pa. Something was knocked over and smashed, in the other adjoining room belonging to Golry, his bedroom wall being right next to their bed. But most alarming of all, was the lewd cackle from down below, where Grandie had her ear trumpet pressed up against the floorboards.

"Oh my," blushed a mortified Onmund. "I had no idea my family were such perverted voyeurs."

"We're not exactly a typical couple, Onmund," chuckled Taslav, the warm breath of his whispering voice so close to Onmund's ear, he almost nibbled it as he spoke. That just made Onmund want it even more.

"So, it's just a new challenge for us then? To do it quietly?"

"I'm not sure I'm capable of that tonight..." teased Taslav somewhat dreamily.

"I don't care. Thanks to you, I'm gone from bottom of the dungheap to the top of the tree. I WANT them to hear just how much we love each other." Onmund was prepared to throw caution to the wind, he was that desperate for some satisfaction.

He wriggled back even further, pulling that meaty arm even tighter. He could feel the tickling, hairy pressure all down his back. Taslav's great sword was pressed up against his buttocks, and the anticipation had him aroused already. He tried to relax, bracing himself for what was to come.

 

"I'm ready, my love," he breathed with bated breath, anticipating the moment.

The beefy arm grew heavier across his chest, the weight pulling him in tighter than ever to Taslav's body. The warm breath drew closer to his neck. Onmund felt blissfully safe in the warm embrace. Then... nothing.

Onmund's breath shivered. The suspense was the nastiest prank Taslav had ever pulled, but it would be worth it... eventually...

 

"Taslav?"

"... zzzzz ..."

 _I guess a spooning is the only entertainment I'm getting tonight_ , sighed Onmund in extreme disappointment.

He drew the covers a little tighter, and settled down to join Taslav in dreamland.

 

But then came the cheeky afterthought, to create some extra entertainment of his own.

With a broad, mischievous grin, he called out "Goodnight, everyone. Show's over already..." He cackled almost as impudently as Grandie, upon the multitude of startled noises and scampering aways from all directions.


	25. Morning Glory.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New day, new man, new hero.  
> New Brothers-in-law...
> 
> I apologize for the teasing chapter title, but this is more like "Morning Golry" than what you might have been expecting.

 

**Part 25: Morning Glory.**

 

Taslav arose early the next morning, alive and refreshed after a solid sleep.

Onmund stirred, but Taslav left him alone in bed. There was yet more work to do, to finish the reconciliation, and make certain of Destiny.

Out in the barn, Taslav encouraged the hens to lay three times as many eggs as usual. _Plenty for everyone, to have a hearty breakfast._ Ma's abysmal cooking, was no way to start any day. He'd never say it, but that stew had been the most disgusting meal he had ever tasted. Even with the improved sweetrolls.

But as he made his way back into the kitchen, he was surprised to see Golry already there, trying to start the stove, to boil some water for tea.

Old chores die hard. Ma had trained her kids to do much of the housework, and this unsavory little job had been dropped on her firstborn child as soon as he could handle the flint.

"Good morning, Golry," greeted Taslav brightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine, thanks. Never better, actually." Golry was smart enough to have seen through the smoke and mirrors, while thinking it through overnight. "All thanks to you. I still can't believe how you healed me. When I saw that ice spear sticking out, I thought I was dead already."

Taslav smiled, equally smart enough to know protest would be futile. He bowed his head with closed eyes, deferring to the implicit challenge, and acknowledging Golry's accurate decipherment of his deliberate deception. "You're quite welcome, Golry. I'm grateful you looked after your little brother so well."

"What do you mean?" asked Golry, while cursing the damp kindling, that was failing to catch alight, despite his determined striking.

"Here, let me help..." Taslav ignited the fire into an instant perfect flame.

Golry jumped back in alarm, half expecting the stove to explode and set fire to the house, like last night. Then remembered, that _when used for good_ , magic was not anything to be feared. Quite useful, in fact.

Taslav continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened. "I mean, you knew where Onmund would be heading for last night. And you suggested he wear the armor to protect himself, when he picked up GrandPa's warhammer, didn't you?"

"What else could I do? Ma was getting desperate, that I had to train harder to make the grade as a soldier. But Onmund is, well, I think you know better than me, just how hopeless he is at it. He'd cut fingers, hands, and legs, with shortswords before then. Broken some toes with a mace. He could barely pick up the warhammer. So I put that helmet on his head, and was about to suggest he don the rest of the armor, when he tried a surprise attack. Only, he attacked himself, instead." Golry shook his head in dismay at his ham-fisted brother.

Taslav felt the same mirth as when Onmund had described it. Despite biting his lips, the shaking encouraged Golry to start giggling too, and in moments, the two men were doubled over, sharing belly-laughs.

"Yes, I know _exactly_ what you mean, Golry," managed Taslav between the streaming tears and gasping for breath. Then he sobered up enough to get solemn for a moment. "But tell me, seriously now, do _you_ really want to be a soldier? Or is that someone else's dream you're chasing?"

Golry was taken aback by the question. His smile faded. "I've never really thought about that," he admitted. "But I think I do want to be some sort of warrior, yes. Even if it's just so I can be a better hunter, or defend against those bandits that Onmund kept on prattling about."

Taslav noted a tick in another box. _Golry even took heed of Onmund's warnings._ His decision was instant.

"In that case, perhaps you'd like to accompany me outside for a bit of sparring?"

"You mean it? _Me_ , getting to spar with the Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions?" As much as Golry relished the opportunity, he knew how weak his own skills were. His excitement was quickly tempered by truth. "I'm going to be slaughtered, aren't I?"

Taslav chuckled. "Not necessarily. You scored some decent strikes against Drelas last night. Perhaps you didn't realize how significant they were, you being a bit busy dying and all that, but they did some notable damage, and might well have tipped the battle in our favor. So, come and show me what else you've got..."

 

An invigorated Golry threw everything he had into the friendly rivalry. He knew he was completely outclassed, but he tried everything in his repertoire to make some sort of impression. Taslav guided, corrected, hinted, and taught. The strength was there, but he lacked the supple agility to improvise in mid-attack against a nimble opponent. Golry just needed some dexterity, finesse, and polish, to make it count. Taslav showed him how to adjust, giving the practical demonstrations in slow motion, to get the message across. And shared a few bonus new moves, suited to Golry's preferred style.

Golry could easily hold against any blunt power attack, but he was wide open to the sneaky flanking strikes that would do accumulative minor damage. Completely exposed and vulnerable, he would suffer death by a thousand cuts, in just a few tens of cuts. Or death in one, against a dual-sword wielder. He had never learned any meaningful defense - Onmund had never been able to threaten him sufficiently.

"Your GrandPa might not have used a shield, but he still wore armor, right?" commented Taslav. "Don't forget you can be hit, just as easily as you want to score the hit." Another Bold-Finger learned the lesson of caution that morning.

Within an hour, while the water heated and boiled on the stove, and the rest of the house slept, Taslav lifted Golry from being an also-ran no-hoper, to a decent swordsman and reasonable shot. He could reliably hit the barn door from 50 paces now.

But best of all, was Taslav showing him the sort of training equipment he needed, that he could continue practicing and improving on his own. The straw dummies, the tilt-a-whirl, the heavy logs to hit and wrestle with.

Golry was beaming, when the sweaty guys returned to the kitchen, to find Ma busy at the stove, burning the eggs, ruining the sweetrolls, and stewing the tea.

Taslav quickly amended all when she wasn't looking. The rest of the family surfaced to gather around the dining table for the best meal ever served in that malnourished household.

 

GrandPa's flawless helmet shone brightly upon the reconciled family, but the new Honor Stone glowed just that little bit brighter, with some sparkly glitter effects that subtly out-glamored the old headgear.

The night had not diminished the admiration in the slightest. All hailed Onmund the hero, who didn't quite trust this sudden reverence at all, keeping it at a suspicious arm's length. But as they ate, it became clear that Onmund was indeed now the star player in team Bold-Finger.

Even Grandie was giving him 'the look'. The pats on the back were all very well, but her wrinkly hand rubbing up and down his inner thigh made him very uncomfortable indeed.


	26. Healing Hands.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Taslav and Onmund magic, completes the last remaining unfinished business. 
> 
> Mission _totally_ Accomplished.

 

**Part 26: Healing Hands.**

 

After breakfast, various little clean up crews developed. Ma cleared away the table, aided by Grandie. Onmund wanted to talk with Yrsold. Golry went outside to start building his training facilities. And Taslav spoke earnestly with Pa.

 

Onmund:  
"Yrsold, you have to realize, that chasing after a husband because he's wealthy and has status, is completely wrong. That's just Ma, trying to force her desires onto you. You shouldn't marry someone because of what they can give you. You should marry someone because you love them."

It was all going completely over Yrsold's head. "But will love pay for nice clothes, and a big house, and lots of servants, and big diamond rings?"

Maybe she was irredeemable. Ma had become too practiced with Golry and Onmund, brainwashing Yrsold from the moment she could soil a nappy, into not being able to think for herself.

"All I'm trying to say, Yrsold, is that you should be thinking about what YOU want to do. And not pander to Ma's every whim, or suck up to every prospective husband she picks out for you. I mean, look what she put you up to with Taslav yesterday."

"He's a dish, isn't he? Can I have him when you're finished with him? Please?"

"Oh, dear Mara, give me strength," groaned Onmund. It was an unwinnable battle.

 

Taslav was having better success with Pa, about his knee. There was no way there was anything physically wrong with it, after the healing spells of last night. It was definitely his mind that needed fixing, as he complained about the old twinges returning with a vengeance.

"My knee is acting up again this morning. It hurts something awful, if I try to bend it like thi...aaaAARGH."

Knowing it was mental, and not physical, Taslav had but one idea how to resolve this. He had suspected and planned accordingly last night.

It would be a _magnificent_ illusion to pull off. Timing and precision were critical. It seemed he still loved the 'impossible' challenges after all...

"Well, I'm still happy to pay for the surgeons you'd need to get that arrow tip out. But I think I can fix that with magic, if you prefer. Right here and now, this very morning. Mostly painless, no risk of infection, and I can guarantee you won't lose the leg in a botched operation." He threw in all of the magic ingredient words.

Pa was in a cold sweat at the thought of going under the knife, risking his leg if not his life to get that arrow tip removed. Never mind the damage the surgery itself would do. He might be even worse off than now, even if the operation was successful.

But his reaction was as surprising, as it was deeply satisfying, for Taslav.

"I quite... prefer... the idea of a magical healing. Having seen how Golry was saved last night, I don't need any further convincing about that. But..."

Wow. Pa had _really_ changed his tune about magic. Taslav waited with bated breath for the kicker of an unexpected punchline, that hit him right in the emotional feels.

"...But... I wonder... if Onmund could do it? No offense, and all that, but I'd be so proud if my own son could do this for me."

Taslav choked up. He couldn't stop a few tears of elated joy from escaping. It was hard to speak with the huge lump in his throat. "I'll.. have to have a word with him. He's not properly trained in such surgical removal skills yet, but if I guide him, I think we might manage it. Let me discuss it with him first."

 

"What's wrong, my love," cried Onmund in alarm, as an emotional, weeping Taslav rescued him from the ordeal of debating love versus money with Yrsold.

"Nothing, Onmund," blubbed Taslav. "Absolutely nothing. In fact, you won't believe the miracle that just happened..."

 

The pair huddled together in a corner, an occasional hug and back pat and stolen kiss accompanying the conspiring men. Grandie was sipping another lecherous cup of tea, snickering away in amusement with eyes twinkling like never before, watching them having their 'intimate moments'.

They nodded in agreement, shook hands, and stood up for Taslav's important announcement.

"Gather around, everyone. Onmund will heal Pa's knee, by removing the arrow tip embedded within."

Amidst the gasps and ohh's and ahh's, was a pleased-as-punch Pa. Taslav had said Onmund was a novice at this, but he was his Father's son, and being a (deluded) Bold-Finger meant that he would surely succeed. Taslav's plan to 'show Onmund's family his true worth' had exceeded all expectations.

Space was cleared, and Pa sat on the sturdiest chair for the delicate procedure. Onmund knelt in position to apply his healing hands, with Taslav observing from behind, his own hands resting discretely on Onmund's shoulders to steady him for the intricately meticulous operation.

Ma had hot water and wraps on standby. All gathered around for a close up view of the once-in-a-lifetime show. The stage was set. And the illusion began.

 

Now that Onmund knew the plan, he would merely "channel" Taslav's magic once again. He stroked his hands around Pa's knee, creating all sorts of sparkly special effects to impress the family (and hide any minor glitches and gaps), while Taslav concentrated on doing the heavy lifting. No way could Onmund pull this level of conjuration trick off. But it was made to look that way, to please Pa.

Taslav had already examined the broken arrow closely, the day before. He knew exactly what 'missing piece' had to be 'extracted' from Pa's little scar. But the _REAL_ challenge lay, in crafting that missing piece little bit by little bit, so that it appeared to be emerging from the skin, and not just "built" in one big lump, like the renovation projects of last night.

An external conjuration, would be obvious cheating. "Teleportation" was not an adequate solution. Pa had to SEE that arrow tip coming out of his body, to be convinced it was being removed from inside.

But equally, an internal conjuration, creating the tip inside the knee before drawing it out, would cause Pa so much excruciating pain, he'd panic and not survive the shock.

So, the arrow tip had to be gradually conjured into existence at the surface, adding layer upon layer to the levitating arrowtip, creating the illusion that it was emerging from within, while not even breaking the skin. That's where Onmund's local special effects came in. He also added a little bit of minor inflicted pain, and a few drops of blood for dramatic effect, and the impressive job was complete.

Ten minutes later, and a pain-free Pa was mounting the missing arrow tip against the arrowhead above the hearth, nodding and smiling knowingly at the perfect match. _But that damned bit of metal was out of his knee once and for all now, thanks to Onmund. And thanks to Taslav, too, who steered and nurtured the College, that taught good magic to good people._


	27. To Boldly Go...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to say Farewell.
> 
> Grandie steals the show.  
> (It's the crackiest punchline ever...)

**Part 27: To Boldly Go...**

 

It was late morning, and Gunjar returned to rescue whatever remained of the travelers. The courtyard seemed surprisingly dry, but he said nothing as he received the bags from Onmund, to pack onto the carriage.

 

Yrsold was behaving a bit like the stroppy teenager she was. Not quite able to accept she couldn't have the nice gentleman as her future husband. But deep down, there was just about enough understanding, why that was so. She perked up a little, knowing that the pressure was off, for her to find a wealthy husband.

Onmund - her formerly _useless_ but now valuable brother - had already taken care of that duty for her. He had even tried to explain to her, that she should be looking for the person she loved, and who would love her back equally, and not just some wealthy man who would buy her whatever she wanted. _As if love could ever be more important than glittering jewels, and septims to spend in the dress shop. Silly boy. Onmund really had no idea, did he?_

But at least Uncle Taslav* had understood her needs, and given her what she _really_ wanted. A lovely big bag of gold, to buy herself whatever she desired.  
*  the age gap (and technically accurate) term would be Brother-in-law. But the maturity gap makes Uncle seem much more appropriate.

Little did she know, that naughty Uncle Taslav had enchanted the coins, to lead her directly to her one true love, when she tried to spend them...

 

Ma was cooing in delight, somewhat beside herself. Bleak Moor Farm wasn't looking quite so bleak in the morning sunshine, but she had so many new choices now.

Her son Onmund, whom she had _always_ known would be the shining star of her brood, had bagged the man of her dreams. She had a choice of luxurious homes to visit, honorable titles to namedrop amongst the highest of social circles, and best of all, Grandkiddies to fuss over!

The four adorable orphans at Lakeview Manor didn't know just what was going to hit them. Or their teeth. Or how much she was going to spoil them with her sweetrolls. Erm. Spoil her sweetrolls for them. _Whatever_. She planned to bake _something_ for them, as soon as possible.

She was seriously considering a permanent move to Lakeview to mollycoddle them properly, but there were other factors nagging in her mind. Pa, for example, who also had a new lease of life about him, with his fixed knee.

Yrsold also needed looking after for a while yet. Taslav had promised to put in a good word with Erik (which he had done happily, knowing the coins would pre-empt any such need).

And what would Golry do? She did still have her own family to consider. But it was a tough call for her, having so many options to choose from. She'd decide later.

 

Pa was jumping about, running and flexing that knee, not quite able to believe how wonderful it felt, to be rid of that shrapnel at last. Onmund had done a fantastic job - the scar was not just still there, but even a little bigger now, so he'd always have the story to tell. And the offending metal mounted above the hearth would complete the tale, making it all real. But he was a new man.

He too had not really considered whether to persevere with Bleak Moor Farm, or hint at relocation, but for now, they would be fine. When word spread of how Powerful Onmund had Squashed Drelas, none of those bandits would dare to bother them. His restored health would enable him to improve and expand the farm now, and that might make all the difference needed, for what had been the family home for a long, long time already.

All that mattered right now, was that his knee was as good as new. And that was completely _not_ the outcome he had expected, when that dreadful report card had arrived.

 

By contrast, Golry was quite subdued. He had learned so much from that one brief sparring session, that he felt like a newly enlisted soldier already. He would miss not having Taslav around to help any further, but he could already sense his own destiny was taking shape before him.

"Thank you, Taslav," he added to his sincere hug and handshake. "Thanks to your help, I know I'll pass the selection trials next time," praised Golry.

"I'm quite sure you will," affirmed Taslav, making a mental note to have a quiet word with the Legate in Solitude. Just to make _quite_ quite sure.

Onmund raised a knowing eyebrow, making his own mental note to thank Taslav for that 'help'.

Taslav saw the disapproving look, and discretely answered the unspoken accusation. "He deserves it, Onmund. He's more than earned it. He was looking out for you, when you didn't even know it. Besides, we sparred a bit this morning, while you lay in, you lazy sod. He's not bad, really. Very rough around the edges, of course, since he had no-one competent to practice against..." Taslav dodged the playful slap Onmund threw at him "...but he has the potential to make a respectable soldier. He'll easily get there with some decent training, and not need any favors from me."

 

"Speaking of favors..." chimed in a seductive Grandie. She had made her stealthy approach from behind, wrapped her arms around his waist, and sent her hands plunging below his beltline. And now that she had Taslav firmly in her groping hands one last time, she really didn't want to let go of her new ~~toyboy~~ Grandson-in-law.

But it was to no avail. Taslav belonged to Onmund, and she sighed dreamily in resignation. Still clinging onto whatever part of him she could, Grandie finally let go of her own erotic desires. But she left the door wide open, just the same.

"Just you remember, young man: If ever you fancy a bit on the side, or maybe just want to spice things up a bit with Onmund, I can teach you stuff that would make Sanguine blush," she boasted wickedly.

Taslav remained ever the nice gentleman about it, having had a bright idea during breakfast, when she had tried her toe tricks one last time. "Why, thank you, Grandie," he charmed. "What a delightful offer. But perhaps you should write a book about it, to share the pleasure of your expertise with everyone?"

"Ooooohhhh," she squealed, smacking his hand. "You naughty, saucy, _dirty_ , boy!" The old woman really did wet herself in delight with the prospect. The distraction let Taslav escape her clutches and hustle aboard the waiting carriage.

 

But the ~~seed~~ idea, was planted...

 

A letter or two later confirmed the proposal. There was a delivery of writing supplies, some discussions with the College Librarian, and arrangements made with some of Taslav's more obscure contacts.

More Destiny happened.

A few months later, a new book took Skyrim by storm. Overnight, it became the number one bestseller, dwarfing the sales of everything else put together.

 _"51 shades of Bold"_ , apparently written by one "Handie Finger", flew off the shelves faster than anyone could put out. ***

*** I don't think I've ever written so many (count 'em - _three_ ) cracky or risque or downright cleanly smutty bits into a single line as that. Any suspected typos, are deliberate, I assure you.  
I hope you... enjoyed it... Cough. Ahem.  
Inspired the chapter title, as well.  
And all serendipitous opportunity, too.  
Not planned at all, until we all came together... Oops, it happened again. Blush.


	28. Carriage of Destiny.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onmund wants just a little bit more...

 

**Part 28: Carriage of Destiny.**

 

All business dealt with, all family reconciled, all Destiny conquered, Taslav and Onmund waved goodbye to the Bold-Fingers from the open door of their carriage, as Gunjar cracked the whip and flicked the reins.

They clambered properly inside, and closed the door, before the bumpy road beyond the muddy garden threw them off the careening carriage. But as Taslav swayed unsteadily towards his seat, Onmund fell on him, dragging him to the floor, tearing away his clothes, desperate to satisfy his insatiable lust for the love of his life.

The wait had been too great. This moment too long in coming. Taslav had delivered on every promise. He had returned the amulet, returned the friendship, returned the love, and now returned his own family to him as well. How could he ever repay the debt he owed to this man? And what he wanted to do to Taslav _right now_ , was in no way going to reduce it, but just add to it all the more.

 

Thus began the longest ride they had ever taken together. Adding at least another 10 possible shades to Grandie's book along the way.

 

"I love you, my love," panted Onmund, nibbling on Taslav's ear, between the caressing and kissing and fondling and ravishing.

"Destiny, Onmund," grunted an equally lustful Taslav, casting all inhibitions aside, now that they were safely beyond the intrusive family surveillance.

"This is how everything is meant to be."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. What a ride.... 
> 
> Sorry if it "felt different" after chapter 18.  
> RL got in the way, and certainly affected my writing.  
> The ideas were there, but the mood was often not, and some of it had to be... forced.
> 
>  
> 
> MATURE READERS ONLY:  
> Grandie's cracky scene-stealer of a line tickles me pink.  
> Once thought of, that meant this story was always Destined to be completed...
> 
> Explained here in detail, because there's so much going on in it, that it's easy to miss something...  
>  _"51 shades of Bold", apparently written by one "Handie Finger", flew off the shelves faster than anyone could put out._
> 
> So, hopefully everyone noticed the obvious reference to "50 Shades of Grey". The book that became a movie, famed for the number of used cucumbers left behind in the cinemas between showings...  
> It took a Bold move to borrow that. With some role reversal, too - Grandie being the one in charge of the titillation. And vastly more experienced and skilled - she was even Bolder in her bedroom. The entire script of this story, alluded to her unrivaled expertise at pleasuring men - which is why "she knew she was good enough to make ANY man scream and beg for it", despite the marriage (and particularly the sexual orientation) revelations at the dinner table.  
> And, of course, she had to 'go one better'. Hence she had 51 shades to write about. (Never mind the 'extra ten' in the carriage of destiny - that was just to provoke your imagination!)
> 
> Then there's the 'one handy finger' - the cucumber substitute.  
> Obviously a nom-de-plume, with Grandie becoming Handie, but also using the other half of the family name. Was she the Bold half, or was she the Finger half, that her marriage to Grandpa evolved into the double-barreled Bold-Finger? It didn't really matter. The shades of Bold, had to be written by the Finger.  
> It wouldn't work at all, to have 51 shades of Finger, apparently written by one Handie Bold, would it?  
> Other potential inferences to the book being handwritten (oh my, a hand-job!) were purely serendipitous (accidental good fortune), but there was no intended connection to James Bond(age) and/or Goldfinger at all. 
> 
> And lastly, the grammatical error that wasn't.  
> 'The books flew off the shelves, faster than any shopkeeper could restock.' would be the extremely dull and innocent way to have written it. But with a little mangling and vagueness, the books were sold faster than 'anyone' could 'put out'. Because, these days, 'putting out' means something entirely different...  
> You might alternatively say, that the book contents spread faster by word of mouth (and hence had people trying out/putting out), than said people could buy their own copies of...  
> It ALSO implies that the book sold out faster than anyone could put the contents into practice. Which seems contrary to the first interpretation, but actually complements the idea that Grandie's knowledge in the book resulted in a vast amount of UST building up all over Skyrim, as the ideas spread around far quicker than anyone had opportunity to 'put' into practice, or try 'out'. 
> 
>  
> 
> Grandie's old age merely became the 'age-play comedy' source - that this wrinkled old woman still believed she 'had it'. She was nowhere near death - her 5 years about to take her last breath, alluded to her extreme boredom of not having anyone to play with. Grandpa had been killed nearly 20 years ago - and he may or may not have run away to join the army, because he couldn't keep up with her in the bedroom.  
> The farm was so remote, she had no opportunity to satisfy her lust, or keep plying her wares/skills/trade. In a town, she'd no doubt have become a Madame, perhaps even running a training academy... But stuck at Bleak Moor farm, she had no way to 'maintain her interest'.  
> And then this handsome dish of an unsuspecting Taslav turns up, potentially relieving all of those 20 years of UST all at once. Which is why she might have seemed "excessive" - to the point of scaring (and perhaps scarring) the Dragonborn.


End file.
